


Metanoia

by delphicpigeon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Character, Drama & Romance, Epic Love, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hedwig (Harry Potter) Lives, LGBTQ Character, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Multi, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Paganism, Runes, Sassy Harry Potter, Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 77,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26463916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delphicpigeon/pseuds/delphicpigeon
Summary: Hermione Granger receives a mysterious prophecy that speaks of ancient magic and a fallen prince. The ways of old magic never die - they lie dormant, waiting for their vessel to unleash power upon the world. DM/HG. AU/Canon divergent. Heavy ritual magic and Paganism references.Disclaimer: I do not own anything nor am I receiving compensation. HP is JKR intellectual property.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 100





	1. The Horcrux Hunt

It was dark and cold. The sound of static-filled jazz drifted softly from the canvas tent and despite encouraging reports of no new deaths, Hermione’s teeth were on edge. Ron’s abrupt departure from the small camp following a heated exchange had left her with a pounding headache that not even a quick Subsidio Capitis could fix. She knew Harry was just as hurt as she was, but he showed little indication otherwise. He just continued to move them from place to place while setting up enchantments to protect them from being seen. Their knowledge of the Sword of Gryffindor’s potential ability to destroy horcruxes was all they had to go on. Unfortunately, the sword was missing and Ron’s horcrux-fueled accusations of some romantic conspiracy between Hermione and Harry had brought the group to a dead end.

Ron had been one-third of their trio since they encountered that troll in the dungeon six years ago. Hermione snorted at the thought of a troll being the worst thing to encounter. What she would not give to be dealing with a troll rather than a temperamental Harry Potter and an absent Ronald Weasley. 

“Although,” she admitted, “an absent Ron certainly makes things simpler.” 

Hermione winced thinking back of when they had awkwardly shared a kiss at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Hermione had immediately regretted the decision. Beyond the butterflies of a first kiss, she had felt nothing. The kiss had been perfectly normal, but it certainly had not inspired any other feelings of passion. She remembered Ron blushing his signature red flush while mumbling some half-hearted apology and quickly scurried away to refill his butterbeer. That encounter left Hermione feeling rather silly and vulnerable, but slightly relieved that any notions of romance with the second youngest Weasley were completely dashed. She still loved Ron but now was not the time to be considering of any sort of romantic thoughts. There were horcruxes to find and destroy, along with a Dark Lord to overthrow. 

Coming back to the reality, Hermione tried to focus on her copy of the Tales of Beetle the Bard. The faded blue cover was starting to fray, and she had committed the cardinal sin of dog-earing any pages she felt may help. Despite her nearly obscene love for books, Hermione took this as her own personal vengeance against Dumbledore for giving her such an infuriating and, apparently, nearly impossible task. She had read the stories over and over hoping something might jog her memory, but nothing happened. She sighed, snapped the book shut, and rose up to rejoin Harry in the tent.

Harry was laying in his cot staring at the golden snitch that Dumbledore had bequeathed to him. He appeared deep in thought and was rotating the small object with the greatest of care. Hermione quietly observed Harry from the entrance of the tent. Despite the dark bruise-like shadows under his eyes, Harry’s emerald green eyes could be seen intently studying the snitch with a combination of scrutiny and exasperation. He reached up to push a strand of his unruly, black hair away from his eyes and Hermione laughed softly when it fell right back into place. 

“Those have flesh memories, you know.” Hermione pointed out. 

Harry stopped his inspection and looked up at Hermione in surprise. “Flesh memories?” he asked.  
Hermione walked over to the wooden table where her enchanted beaded bag sat and dug out her copy of Quidditch Throughout the Ages by Kennilworthy Whisp. The thumbed to the section on “The Golden Snitch” and read:

Originally created as a replacement for the endangered Golden Snidget (a small golden magical bird with fully rotational wings, best known for early use in the wizarding game of Quidditch) in the early 1500’s by Bowman Wright, a professional and highly-skilled metal charmer. Golden snitches preserve flesh memories.  
A flesh memory is a memory retained by a Golden Snitch of the Seeker who caught it, in order to avoid Quidditch disputes over the capture of a Snitch. A Snitch is never touched by human hands before a match, and the makers wear gloves. Only the Seeker is supposed to touch the Snitch.

“Think about the flesh memory that would be associated with this particular snitch.” Hermione suggested. Harry paused with his brow furrowed in concentration until realization slowly dawned across his face. 

“Hermione, you are brilliant!” he sang. “I didn’t catch the snitch with my hand. I caught it my mouth. I nearly swallowed the damn thing!” he shouted, nearly falling out of the cot in excitement. Harry stood and Hermione watched as he brought the snitch to his lips in a surprisingly tender gesture. 

Slowly, in elegant script, the words “I close at the open” appeared across the smooth, golden surface. She gasped softly and Harry looked up with a mix of uncertainty and hope. 

“What do you think it means?” he asked. Hermione sighed and shook her head. Dumbledore was clever, but his flair for the dramatic and lack of actual instructions annoyed her. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.” Hermione suggested gently. He nodded, gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, and headed to the entrance of the tent to begin the next watch until morning. Hermione climbed into bed and exhaustion quickly pulled her to sleep.

\--------

The next morning, following an uneventful report watch from Harry and a breakfast of cold tinned beans on dry toast, Hermione thought she would give Beetle the Bard another once-over before her watch started. Flipping through the children’s book again, something unfamiliar and out of place caught Hermione’s amber eyes. 

A knut-sized triangular symbol containing a vertical line and circle that appeared to have been inked in just above the title of the book. Hermione scrutinized the image and wondered how she missed this picture in the first place. It had been surprisingly easy to miss. Almost as if a Notice-Me-Not spell had been applied to the image. Hermione grunted in exasperation at the image. Of course, Dumbledore would put a Notice-Me-Not on the book.

“Harry? Have you seen this before?” Hermione asked while rotating the book for Harry to see.

Harry glanced at the image, shrugged his shoulders, and with an impish grin suggested, “Maybe Dumbledore felt like doodling.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and snapped the book shut. “Do you have any other helpful suggestions?”, she shot back in annoyance. Harry’s grin turned into a sad smile and the light in his emerald eyes appeared to dim a bit. 

“I’d actually like to go to Godric’s Hollow. It is the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor and my home. Maybe a clue is hidden there.” Harry murmured quietly.

Hermione frowned at the thought of traveling out in the open but could not deny Harry’s reasoning. “Alright,” she sighed, ”Let’s pack up and Apparate after nightfall.”.

\-------

Harry and Hermione apparated into Godric’s Hallow shortly after dark. The snow was falling lightly while lights and icicles twinkled all around. Hermione briefly wondered how a place with such a dark history could be so lovely. Hermione secured the soft wool scarf knitted by Molly Weasley around her neck and surveyed the area for prying eyes. The soft sounds of gentle Christmas carols floated out from the small brick church on the corner. 

Harry stiffened next to Hermione and she followed his line of sight. The graveyard. The graves of James and Lily Potter lay only a couple feet away. Harry pulled away and begin searching the faded gravestones while Hermione hung back, giving Harry private space to grieve. Out of the corner of Hermione’s eye, a familiar shape lay just to her left. Kneeling down, she gently brushed off the snow of the ancient marker. “It’s the symbol again.”, she muttered quietly. The gravestone named “Ignous Peverell” as the owner of this mysterious symbol. A symbol that had eluded Hermione through all her studies of ancient runes. 

“Harry?”, she gently called. “Harry, I’ve found the symbol again.”, she whispered softly as she came to Harry’s side. He nodded in acknowledgement, still lost in his thoughts. Hermione looped her arm with Harry’s, offering a small amount of solace while the church bell rang out signaling midnight. It was so peaceful that Hermione felt for just a moment that there was no war. Just the hushed rustle of fallen snow and subtle scent of Christmas trees.  
A shuffling movement turned Hermione’s attention to the far end of the graveyard. The outline of an older woman wrapped in a shawl stood motionless and watching Harry and Hermione. Hermione tugged on Harry’s arm in alarm. 

“Someone is watching us.”, she whispered urgently. 

Harry slowly turned his head to observe the figure. “I think that’s Bathilda Bagshot. She knew Dumbledore. Maybe she can help us.”, he insisted. Hermione knew something was wrong, but she could not say what. Something about the way this woman moved felt predatory. Like a snake waiting in the grass. Harry’s insistence on following the outline of Bathilda Bagshot into a dilapidated and sagging house proved to be a dreadful decision.

\-------

Harry and Hermione apparated back into a stark landscape of dark trees and hard ice. Harry looked around wildly and shouted, “It was Nagini! It was a trap!”. 

Hermione, still struggling for breath from the void of Apparition, collapsed to the ground clutching her wand as tears began to streak down her face. That horrid snake had disguised itself with the corpse of Bathilda Bagshot and nearly lured them to their death. Hermione wanted to scour herself. She could still smell the mold and metallic tang of blood. Harry shook Hermione. 

“She was the SNAKE, Hermione!”, he repeated in shock. Hermione’s eyes shot up to Harry’s own. 

“Yes, but we survived and now we need to get some protectio-“ The quick snap of a twig cut off Hermione’s statement and both Harry and Hermione whirled around to the source of the noise. A figure emerged and began walking towards them.

\-------

“RON!” Harry bellowed. Harry dropped his wand and barreled towards Ronald Weasley’s tall form. Hermione felt her initial rage at Ron’s abandonment return in full force and she stalked towards Ron with the intent to smack him like she did Draco Malfoy in third year. 

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY,” Hermione seethed, “You better have an absolutely exceptional reason coming back here after abandoning us!” Her chocolate-colored hair sparking silver and gold with magical rage. Ron threw up his hands in surrender while flushing a brilliant red. 

“I destroyed the locket.” Ron said quickly while shuffling his feet in the snow. Hermione stiffened and blinked in response. Harry stopped his forward assault on Ron and stared at him as if Ron had just sprouted a head full of antlers. It was only then that Hermione noticed the long glint of metal behind Ron’s tall form.

“Tent. NOW.” Hermione ordered, sharply pointing to the entrance of their shelter. Both Ron and Harry, wise enough to know not to antagonize Hermione during one of her hair-sparking (or bird-summoning Oppugno) moods, obeyed. Once seated at the table, Hermione looked pointedly at Ron in a non-verbal order to start talking or be hexed into oblivion. Ron sighed and began recounting his journey.

\-------

“You mean to tell me that the Sword of Gryffindor just appeared in some frozen pond that you found because a glowing blue light from Dumbledore’s Deluminator told you to!?” Hermione shouted. “Then you proceeded to steal the locket from the tent because YOU FIGURED IT WOULDN”T HURT TO TRY!?”.

Ron flinched at the volume of Hermione’s voice and the magical sparking in her wild curls were threatening to set fire to the tent. Harry sat by quietly while gently holding his broken holly wand with a wide-eyed forlorn look that suggested he had not even processed Ron’s words. There was a long silence that filled the air as Hermione huffed through this revelation.

“Mione,” Harry finally spoke, “Despite Ron’s unorthodox methods, we are down a horcrux. Don’t you understand that we are one step closer to destroying him? Now we know that the Sword of Gryffindor has the ability to destroy them.” He concluded. Although Hermione certainly did not agree with how Ron had handled the whole situation, she begrudgingly did agree with the point Harry had made.

“Do you forgive me, Mione?”, Ron asked, a sheepish look on his face. Hermione huffed again, reined in her temper, and finally gave a small smile. 

“You are forgiven, BUT I am still incredibly cross with you.” Then in typical Hermione logic, she was already on to the next topic.

“Ron, while you were gone, we discovered a symbol that appears as if Dumbledore wanted us to find it. Do you recognize it?” Ron shrugged and when he started to reply, Hermione abruptly cut him off.

“Ronald, I swear to Circe, if you say Dumbledore was doodling, I will use Ginny’s Bogey-Bat hex on you!” 

Ron swiveled his head to Harry, who had averted his eyes to avoid participation in this particular discussion. Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry’s evasive expression when suddenly, Harry smacked the wooden surface of the table with a loud THUNK. 

“I know where I’ve seen it before! I was so wrapped up in the horcrux and being back in Godric’s Hallow, that I completely missed it. I saw that symbol on a necklace worn by Xenophilius Lovegood at Bill and Fleur’s wedding!”.

Harry rapidly spoke as if he might lose the words if he did not get them out quick enough. Both Ron and Hermione were both startled into silence by this revelation. Hermione knew that Xenophilius was one of the last openly defiant supporters of Harry Potter and Dumbledore and maybe, he might be able to provide something that could lead the Trio to the location of another horcrux. Or maybe even some shelter and safety beyond a charm surrounded tent in the Forest of Dean with two cranky and sleep-deprived boys.

“Hermione?” Harry gently squeezed her shoulder, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to be excited by the possibilities.

“We should find Xenophilius and see if he can help us. We don’t have any other options right now.” She said rapidly, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Harry nodded and turned to Ron. “Get some rest, we leave tomorrow morning.”


	2. Lovegood Lore

Harry, Ron, and Hermione apparated into a sea of gently swaying grass. The sky was a blinding blue with fat, white clouds drifting lazily while birds sang nearby. Hermione could almost understand why Luna always seemed in a daydream. This place was like something out of a calendar. Even the chess piece shaped house with a babbling stream nearby breathed out a soothing aura. The trio looked around cautiously for any signs of Snatchers or obvious protective charms. Hermione cast a quick Homino Revealio and determined only one occupant was inside. 

Odd. Why not two? 

She shrugged off the feeling and quickly rapt on the wooden door. The door slowly cracked open and a raspy “Who’s there?!” was barked out. Harry stepped out from behind Ron and Hermione and gently asked, “Mr. Lovegood, it’s Harry Potter. We need your help”. Xenophilius Lovegood’s pale face appeared with his silvery blue eyes darting about rapidly. 

“Hurry,”, he ushered the Trio inside, “Before someone sees you!” 

After adjusting their eyes to the semi-darkness of the home, Hermione was able to evaluate Xenophilius Lovegood’s physical appearance. He appeared to be exhausted with deep, dark circles under his eyes, white-blonde hair hanging in a stringy and tired manner, and incredibly wrinkled tunic and trousers. An equally crumpled robe hung nearby. Mr. Lovegood’s eyes moved rapidly between the Trio as if he were assessing them. 

“Why are you here?!”, he demanded, a slightly shrill edge to his voice. 

“Mr. Lovegood,” Harry replied, “On the night of the wedding, you were wearing a necklace with a symbol. We were hoping you could tell us about it.”. Mr. Lovegood stared at them silently for the better part of a minute and slowly begin removing a long, silver chain from inside his tunic. 

“Don’t you know of the Deathly Hallows?” he asked softly, the ghost of a smile on his thin lips. 

\-------

After recounting the Tale of the Three Brothers and explaining the meaning of the symbol, the Trio sat silent as they processed the actual existence of these items. The invisibility cloak was very much real along with the Sorcerer’s Stone. Harry had personally seen both these items. If Mr. Lovegood was right, all that remained was the Elder Wand. Mr. Lovegood stood and again, inspected the witch and wizards in front of him with an odd, appraising expression. Hermione felt Mr. Lovegood’s eyes on her and when she looked up, he smiled and offered her a hand. 

“Ms. Granger, could you assist me in making another pot of tea?”

Hermione took Mr. Lovegood’s outstretched hand and felt a tiny but still noticeable magical spark at the touch. She looked up confused and Mr. Lovegood tilted his head in the direction of the kitchen. Hermione followed him into a cheerful and quaint sunny yellow kitchen full of chipped teacups, an array of magical herbs, and a variety of knickknacks that could only collected by Luna Lovegood. As Mr. Lovegood begin filling the kettle with water, he spoke.

“Ms. Granger, what is your magical heritage?”

Hermione bristled, secretly disappointed that the father of pure and welcoming Luna Lovegood was potentially concerned about blood purity.

“I am Muggleborn, Mr. Lovegood. Is that a problem?” She snapped. A small chuckled escaped from Mr. Lovegood. 

“Oh, you mistake me Ms. Granger. I have the upmost respect for Muggleborns. However, there is something in your blood that sings to me.” He turned to face Hermione and placed the kettle on the stove with a faraway look in his eyes.

“My Luna has the gift of sight. It was passed down to them from their mother, Pandora. I also harness that power, but it is not nearly as strong. In fact, it only happens when I am in the presence of formidable and ancient magic. What magic are you hiding? I can hear it calling.”, he spoke, his voice almost strangled by the gravity of the question. 

Eyes refocusing, Mr. Lovegood stood patiently waiting for a response. Hermione blinked rapidly, confused. What did her Muggleborn blood have to do with formidable and ancient magic? Why was Mr. Lovegood professing the Gift of Sight to only Hermione and not to Ron and Harry? Honestly, she never considered prophecy a true magical art since the whole Astronomy Tower debacle with Trelawney. In fact, the whole exchange was making Hermione particularly uneasy. She stared up at Mr. Lovegood, attempting to formulate a response, when she noticed he was starting to creep towards her while reaching with fingers extended and a cloudy look transforming his eyes. Alarmed, Hermione began edging back towards the sitting room where Harry and Ron had remained. 

“Mr. Lovegood, thank you for all your support and the tea but we really must go.” Hermione stammered, slowly reaching for her wand holster.

Xenophilius Lovegood paused momentarily at her abrupt attempted departure, with his arms frozen in the air before lunging towards Hermione. 

“YOU CANNOT LEAVE!” Lovegood roared while Hermione sprinted, avoiding Lovegood’s touch and ran into the parlor screaming at Harry and Ron to escape. Harry and Ron immediately jumped up and placed themselves between Lovegood and Hermione with wands raised. 

“They’ve got my Luna!” He choked out, the utter loss in his voice tore at Hermione’s heart. “I’ve already alerted them. Handing you over means they will give them back to me!”. He gripped his head as if in immense pain and released an anguished sob. The Trio paused at this incredible revelation. Harry and Ron looked at each other, uncertain of how to react. Hermione cautiously pushed by Harry and Ron to observe Mr. Lovegood. He slowly lifted his head, eyes completely clouded over, and his mouth contorted open as if in a silent scream.

In that careless moment, Lovegood’s hand darted out and gripped Hermione’s right wrist. Excruciating pain like fire bloomed at his touch and Hermione screamed in agony while trying to rip her arm from his surprisingly strong grasp. Lovegood jerked Hermione towards him and placed his lips to her ears. In a voice not his own, as if many voices were speaking at once:

Hear me child and know me for who I am.  
The Dark Goddess of ancient blood, the Sorceress that shall not be ruled.  
Through the despair of the Fallen Prince and rebirth of the Foretold, you shall bring about the Pretender’s annihilation.  
Seek her within the swirling depths of Llyn Tegid and you shall be transformed. 

Hermione gasped as tears streaked down her face from Lovegood's painful grip. Lovegood jerked back, blinking rapidly with confusion written on his pale features. Hermione took advantage of Lovegood's confusion and tore her wrist from Lovegood's grasp and scrambled towards Ron and Harry. 

Spurred by Hermione's sudden movements, Ron quickly shot a disarming spell and Harry grabbed Hermione, attempting to usher her out of the house while she shivered in pain. Lovegood shouted and fired a stunning spell towards Harry, red sparks narrowly missing and striking a large horn-like object behind them. Suddenly, it felt as if the air has been pulled from the room and there was a moment of absolute silence. Then a deafening explosion echoed, and the Trio flew out of the house as it began to collapse inward. The thick black smoke of incoming Death Eaters pierced the tranquility of the blue sky. Hermione’s vision began fading into black as she was sucked into the void of Side-Along Apparition with the sounds of Xenophilius Lovegood's guttural screams echoing in her mind. 

\-------

The sound of muffled voices woke Hermione with a start. She sat up sharply and looked around wildly with her wand drawn. Harry and Ron held their hands up in surrender. 

“Mione, it’s ok. Your safe.” Ron said soothingly. He gently pushed her wand hand down. 

“No one followed us here. I can’t believe that bastard sold us out. Did he hurt you?” he asked, concern written across his face. 

It was only then that Hermione remembered the searing pain at Mr. Lovegood’s touch. She lifted her wrist to inspect for burn damage, but remarkably, found none. She shifted her wrist to inspect for any other missed damage when a very faint shimmering caught her eye. Just barely visible in the light, several lines crisscrossed across and spun their way across her skin. Three concentric circles containing three dots with lines expanding out from them, almost like rays of light. Hermione squinted to focus on the fine lines, but it appeared to be slightly shimmering in and out of sight. 

“Hermione,” Harry asked, alarmed. “Is everything ok?”

Hermione opened her mouth but stopped. She couldn’t tell them. Not right now. She knew they would be concerned, and it wasn’t exactly hurting right now. No, it was definitely NOT the time for another magical mystery. She looked up at Harry's concerned expression. 

“I'm alright,” she lied, “Just tired. Don’t worry.” Forcing a small smile, she dropped her wrist, and took a breath. 

“So, what should we do about the Deathly Hallows?”

\-------

After several days of intense discussion and Hermione going through every book she had stored inside her magical beaded bag, the Trio was no closer to an answer on the Deathly Hallows. Everyone had treated the Deathly Hallows as magical folklore and nothing more. At the same time, Hermione was secretly researching magical burns and symbols but had not found any clues. Transference of magical scars through non-verbal contact was not very common apparently. It wasn’t a scar though. Not like Harry’s. It was actually very lovely and had an almost opalescent coloration when viewed at the right angle. Hermione had attempted to cast a Notice-Me-Not to keep Harry and Ron from noticing the mark, but quickly found out no spell would stick to it. She had ended up using a small dab of Muggle concealer to hide it. She frowned at this discovery. Any mark that couldn’t be covered by magic, like Harry’s scar or the Death Eater’s mark, couldn’t be good magic.

After another cold and dismal day without answers or movement, Hermione suggested the group go restrengthen the perimeter charms in an effort to soften the growing tension around camp. Harry and Ron had almost dueled the previous night over guard duty and which spot was most ideal. Hermione did her best to avoid their arguments and continued to bury herself in her books. But even she had to admit that the days were becoming increasingly frustrating and their hope was dwindling.

As they walked among the dark pines covered in a light dusting of snow, Hermione was thankful for the quiet peace that filled the woods. Only the gentle hum of a nearby river and the brisk wind through the tress could be heard and Hermione pretended this moment was normal. That there was no war. There was no dark lord to be defeated. Just a group of friends quietly enjoying a winter walk through the woods. The moment was broken by the CRACK of Apparition behind the Trio. Hermione felt large hands grip her from behind and hot, acrid breath breathed into her ear.

“What have we here?”

\-------

She landed in a crumpled heap on cold, damp earth. Powerful hands yanked her upright and began pushing her forward. Hermione looked around wildly and found both Harry and Ron had been snatched as well. Ron had fury written on his face and was thrashing wildly against the grip of a massive Snatcher. Harry’s face had gone eerily vacant, his bright green eyes dulled. As the Trio was shoved forward, Hermione began observing their surroundings. They were traveling up a long, gravelly drive flanked by towering ancient oaks. They continued walking up this path until a massive, ornate gate came into view. As the group approached the towering iron gate, the spires of a massive manor begin rising from the horizon. Those spires gave way to an ancient stone building shrouded in mist with creeping ivy and stunning turrets that was simultaneously breathtaking and sinister. As they arrived, a group of witches and wizards turned to view the newest batch of snatched creatures. Hermione was so engrossed in marveling the structure into front of her that she almost didn’t notice Ron’s quiet whimper. She was abruptly brought back to reality. That’s when Hermione looked through the elegant iron design and into the dark and glinting eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to move!! Also, why does no one tell you how difficult it is to write a prophecy? As always, reviews and kudos are always appreciated. Much love!
> 
> -delphicpigeon


	3. Demons

T/W: Depiction of torture/violence  
.  
.  
.  
Hermione felt her mouth go dry and her heart begin rapidly beating in fear. Ron heaved violently next to her while Harry stilled, a look of horror across his features. With a flick of their wand, the gates opened before Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Well, well.” A hysterical cackle bubbling from her throat. “If it isn’t the Chosen One, the blood traitor Weasley, and their filthy pet Mudblood. The Dark Lord will be pleased to hear of your arrival. Knollwood,” Bellatrix addressed the towering Snatcher restraining Ron, “Take our guests inside. I am sure Draco will be delighted to see his former classmates.”

“Malfoy?” Hermione thought in confusion. “Why would he want to see us?”

As Knollwood dragged her forward, she could feel death pulsing from the imposing structure ahead. Nothing light existed here and her entire being shuddered from that bleak energy. Her captor yanked her forward and through the gates towards the looming building. Upon reaching a massive set of double doors pulsing with protective magic, Knollwood pulled up his sleeve and revealed the writhing serpentine Dark Mark to the imposing entryway. The magic stilled momentarily and abruptly swung inwards to reveal an expansive room. Hermione gasped at the absolute splendor contained beyond those doors. Cool marble floors, a colossal stone fireplace that could easily accommodate several wizards, exquisitely upholstered furniture, and a double set of winding staircases richly carpeted with ornate banisters. But what truly took Hermione’s breath away was the vaulted ceiling soaring above her. It was a rich, inky blue color lined with gilded arches and supported by enormous stained-glass windows that were twinkling and flashing, a perfect replica of the stars and cosmos. It reminded Hermione of the Great Hall of Hogwarts. She thought only Hogwarts had that kind of elemental magic. Had she not been so horrified about their predicament, she could cry tears at the sheer magnificence of it all.

“I wasn’t expecting guests, but dear Bellatrix insisted on a private audience.”, a smooth voice remarked coolly from a large, leather chair located close to the fireplace, facing away from Harry, Ron, and Hermione. A lovely woman with a haughty expression stood nearby observing. Her silvery-blue eyes viewed the Snatchers with obvious irritation. She gracefully bent towards the chair, holding a crystal snifter of amber liquid, and whispered to the unseen figure. The owner of the voice ascended slowly and turned to face the Trio. 

“No.” Hermione gasped. 

“You!” Harry seethed; his teeth clenched. Ron said nothing but lunged in an attempt to attack the owner of the cool voice. 

Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione trembled. They were in Malfoy Manor. This palatial building was Malfoy Manor. Her vision began to swim in and out of focus as she realized they may not make it out of this place alive. 

“The Dark Lord will be most pleased that we’ve managed to catch Harry Potter and his ragged band of Mudbloods and Blood-Traitors.” He hissed in glee. “Put them in the dungeon with the others, Knollwood.” 

With a forceful tap of his silver-tipped cane, he turned back to the fireplace while Knollwood and his gang begin dragging the Trio down a dimly lit corridor that was decidedly less decorous and smelled of dampness and despair. Knollwood yanked open a non-descript door and one by one, the Trio was shoved into a dark, windowless room with a single torch illuminating the green-tinged stone walls.

\-------

(Earlier in the East Wing of the Manor)

“Draco.” Narcissa Malfoy commanded, delicately tossing her silvery-blonde hair. “I am confident you are well aware who they have brought into this house.”

Draco flinched. He already carried the burden of Dumbledore’s death and the others who had died when he had allowed Death Eaters into Hogwarts that fateful evening. He truly didn’t want the death of Potter and the others as well, no matter how infuriating they were. He only wanted to protect his family from that creature formerly known as Tom Riddle. 

“Draco,” a soft voice urged, “Listen to me.” Draco sighed and met his mother’s eyes. 

“Enough blood has been spilled here.” She spoke, her voice forceful. “I will not tolerate the death of our last chance to escape this.”

Through the murderous seizure of their beautiful Manor, the torture and punishments meted out to her only son, and her husband’s private constant terror of a summons from the Dark Lord, Narcissa Malfoy (nee Black) had had enough. She knew, with Harry Potter under her roof, her family might have a chance to escape this madman.

Draco gaped at his mother. Draco had never heard his mother speak so directly on any matter. No Pureblood, especially a Slytherin, spoke without a duplicitous interpretation of their statement. Straightforward statements were for Gryffindors. Plausible deniability had always been the house rule. He wondered if this was a trap meant to catch him speaking ill-will of the Dark Lord. He eyed her warily.

“What do you suggest we do Mother?” he spoke slowly, watching her closely.

“I shall speak to Severus on how to handle this matter. You will know what to do when the moment comes.” Her tone brokering no room for further argument. Draco nodded. No amount of Polyjuice Potion could mimic centuries of Pureblood breeding and etiquette.

\-------

“I already made an Unbreakable Vow to assist your feeble son Narcissa. What else do you expect of me?” Snape demanded, his robes billowing as he rounded on her in the main hallway.

“Find a way to contact the Potter boy’s allies.” She challenged, a haughty expression on her face. “I know you care for his life.”

Snape’s black eyes blazed at the Malfoy Matriarch and a sneer creeped across his lips. 

“How would I know of Potter’s allies?” his eyes leveled on Narcissa, daring her to accuse him further.

“Severus, you know I do not bear the Dark Mark and I certainly have no loyalty to that hideous monster that has defiled my home with his dark magic and the blood of others.” She stated angrily, her ice blue eyes flashing defiantly. “I am also aware that you assisted the recently deceased Dumbledore against the Dark Lord.”

“You lie!” Snape hissed, moving towards Narcissa. She quickly held up a pale and willowy hand to stop him. 

“I have no intention of using this information again you Severus. I only wish to protect my family. Especially Draco.” Her voice softening, “He has been tortured mercilessly by Bellatrix and nearly maimed by the Dark Lord for his ‘failure’ of Dumbledore’s assassination. He shall carry those scars for the remainder of his life. I will no longer tolerate the spilled blood of my only child.”

Snape’s sneer lessened slightly while he observed Narcissa, slowly gauging the truth of her words. He released an exasperated sigh.

“Do you remember that horrid elf Potter released from your family during second year?”

\-------

“Harry Potter?” Came a quiet voice from the corner.   
The figure of Luna Lovegood emerged from the shadows; their long, blonde hair softly illuminated by the torchlight. A smaller figure stood to Luna’s left, a goblin Harry greeted as Griphook.

“I knew I’d see you three soon.” Luna commented airily, as if they weren’t currently trapped in Malfoy Manor’s underground dungeon. “Didn’t I tell you Griphook?”

The goblin squinted at Luna in the dim light, sharp teeth visible in what Hermione determined was a grimace.

“Yes, Seer of the House of Lovegood.” Griphook remarked dryly. “Now foretell our escape from this dreadful place.”

“Luna, how did you get in here?” Ron demanded irritably, “Your father tried to kill us to find you!” His voice rising and face flushing. Luna slowly turned to Ron with a serene smile on their face.

“Of course he did. He sensed I had been taken and that a betrayal of his own kind might match the betrayal of years past.” Luna declared, looking at the Trio as if their statement had been about the weather. 

“What are you going on about Lovegood?” Ron barked.

“Harry and Ron, I believe Griphook has some information that might be useful regarding the Sword of Gryffindor.” Luna then ushered the two wizards and goblin to a corner of the enclosed space.

Turning to look at Hermione, Luna tilted their head inquisitively and beckoned Hermione closer.

“And you,” Luna whispered, “Have heard the ancients’ voice and bear their mark.”

Hermione opened her mouth to deny Luna’s words when a loud screech and the dungeon door was slammed open. 

“You lot!” yelled a masked Death Eater, “Bellatrix has some questions for you.”

\-------

Hermione’s heart thudded in her ribcage. She prayed Draco Malfoy wasn’t so far gone that he would willingly hand over his fellow classmates to a megalomaniac. A shadow flitted over across Malfoy’s features and was replaced with a weary, slightly dead expression. He glanced over to Narcissa Malfoy, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.

\-------

Draco Malfoy’s breath quickened. That filth known as the Snatchers, low-grade kidnappers for hire, had burst into the Manor claiming the capture of the Golden Trio. He had silently hoped in the deep recesses of his mind that Potter, the Weasel, and the Mudbl-, no, Granger, had been clever enough to properly hide from the Dark Lord’s unsavory thugs. But now, his psychotic aunt urged him to confirm their identities as they knelt, magically bound, in the Manor’s Formal Hall. He knew who was before him, even if they were under Polyjuice Potion or some glamour spell, Draco would recognize Potter and his brave Gryffindors anywhere. They could change their appearances but not their personalities. Ron was struggling against Knollwood’s second-in-command, Finnegan.

Heroic, but stupid Gryffindor. 

And Granger. Her wide, amber eyes pleading Malfoy to keep their secret. Draco squirmed at the base fear and desperation in those eyes. He struggled knowing that Granger had placed such utter faith in him. Why did she have to look at him like that? Draco just wanted his mother safe. He didn’t need another witch to worry about. Granger was smart, he admitted begrudgingly. She could figure out how to save herself and those two bumbling Gryffindors. Draco inhaled deeply. 

“I can’t be sure.” Draco answered carefully. “They’ve obviously used some sort of glamour spell or Polyjuice Potion in order to gain entry to the Dark Lord’s most secure safehouse. The Order wouldn’t be stupid enough to let Chosen One roam about freely and get captured.”

Draco felt the group of Snatchers and a couple Death Eaters shift uncomfortably at this potential accusation.

“We wouldn’t want to prematurely summon the Dark Lord for couple of decoys.” Draco drawled, hoping his response was casual enough to deflect Bellatrix’s suspicion. Bellatrix hissed, unsatisfied. 

“Throw these two back in the dungeon. This way, if they are decoys,” gesturing to Ron and Harry while Bellatrix shot a look of contempt towards Draco, “The effects will wear off soon.” 

“However, I’d like to have a word with this one.” She muttered, a Cheshire-like grin spreading across her face as she turned towards Hermione.

‘Girl to girl.”

\-------

Hermione’s throat was ragged from screaming and begging. Through the haze of the Cruciatus Curse’s aftereffects, she did not think she had ever understood such endless pain. Bellatrix has shrieked into Hermione’s ear while painfully pulling on her ragged and sweat-soaked curls. Hermione was quite sure Bellatrix has managed to pull out a large clump from her scalp and her blood was gently pooling on the black-veined marble floor. Earlier the eldest Black sister had throttled Hermione and slammed her to the floor, knocking her breathe away, and demanded to know how Hermione had stolen the Sword of Gryffindor from the LeStrange vault. Hermione had pleaded over and over, denying they had taken anything. Which oddly enough had been the truth, but Bellatrix would not be dissuaded. Bellatrix sat straddled over Hermione’s prone body, causing Hermione to gasp for breath.

“Do you see this, little Mudblood?” Bellatrix purred, holding a silver dagger in her hand. She rotated it with an uncharacteristic gentleness and absolute devotion. The triangular blade etched with delicate markings and affixed to an ornately carved dark green jade handle glinted in the light.

“See these carvings? They are meant to make sure the wound never heals,” Her eyes lighting up with malice, “But killing with it is much more delightful. Let us see if this blade can’t loosen your tongue!”

Bellatrix snatched Hermione arm and twisted it to expose the soft underside. Bellatrix began running the tip up and down Hermione’s flesh. Hermione was thrashing with all the strength she could manage, but after several rounds of the torturous Unforgivable and blood loss, she felt as if she were moving in molasses. Then Bellatrix made the first cut.

Hermione released a piercing, guttural scream. It felt as if someone was dragging a red-hot poker through her veins. Bellatrix held her head to the ground and Hermione felt her muscles straining and snapping as her body’s flight response maxed out. She even felt her magic reaching out, trying to escape the agony. Hermione did not know how long she had endured the cruelty of that blade. Screams no longer echoed from her throat. In the haze of further blood loss and anguish, Hermione was sure her vocal cords were damaged, her skin irreversibly broken, and her muscles torn. As tears fell, Hermione wished for death. This way she could truly rest. No more running. No more Horcrux hunting. No more war. 

Hermione was vaguely aware that the cutting had momentarily stopped, and that Bellatrix was screaming at her once again.

“How did you steal the Sword of Gryffindor from my vault?” Bellatrix demanded once again. “Tell me you filthy, disgusting creature!”

Hermione attempted to swallow and was barely able to croak out another denial.

“I promise you. We didn’t take anything. Please.” She pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bellatrix sneered, plainly skeptical of Hermione’s answer, and turned to resume cutting when she unexpectedly stilled. Hermione felt Bellatrix lift her wrist and inspect it closely. Hermione jerked in realization. The magical scar! She had completely forgotten about it and the concealer must have rubbed off.

“Looks like someone had their fun with you before me. What delightful little magic has poisoned you?” she cooed. Hermione whimpered, Bellatrix’s nails digging in her tender skin. Hermione heard Bellatrix take a sharp intake of breath.

“HOW?!” Bellatrix shrieked, “WHERE DID YOU GET THIS MARK?!”

Bellatrix twisted Hermione’s wrist to her line of vision. 

“Mudblood,” Bellatrix snarled, “How did this symbol come to be?” Gripping Hermione’s arm even tighter. Hermione recoiled at the venom in Bellatrix’s voice. 

“It just appeared, I swear! Someone touched me and it burned. I don’t know what it is!” Hermione cried, “Please STOP.”

Bellatrix grabbed Hermione’s face between her slender fingers and jerked her face into focus. 

“I’m not done with you yet. The Dark Lord will want to hear of this development.” Bellatrix scoffed. With that she slid off Hermione’s body and snapped her fingers. A small house elf appeared, wrapped in a dirty yellow tea towel. 

“Clean this thoroughly. Its covered with filth.” She commanded, throwing the dagger flippantly to the creature. The tiny being caught the dagger, trembling with fear. It turned its gaze to Hermione, where its orb-like eyes widened slightly. Hermione could have sworn she saw the creature bow discreetly in her direction. Why would a Malfoy elf bow to her? Her vision started to fade and Hermione let her body lapse into unconsciousness.

“Oh, and have Draco clean up this mess.”


	4. Closer & Farther

**Chapter 4 – Closer & Farther**

Draco stood outside the Formal Hall cradling his head, platinum strands clutched in his trembling fists. Granger had been screaming for what felt like hours and even when the sounds tapered off, he knew it was simply because her vocal cords had given out on her. How much longer would his family have to endure hosting bloody tortures, merciless executions, and unspeakable cruelties? As much as he despised the bushy-haired swot, he himself had faced countless hours at the mercy of Bellatrix’s madness. In response, the wounds on Draco’s skin began to burn and itch. The newest set to grace his once immaculate flesh. Bellatrix had delighted in discovering that pink-wrapped toad known as Dolores Umbridge’s past punishment of Potter by using the Sanguis Quill, a quill in which one’s own blood provided the ink. She had demanded Umbridge hand over the gold-tipped instrument and forced Draco to write down all his spectacular failures against the Dark Lord, failures now etched painfully deep. Draco had lost count of how many times he had to vanish the blood seeping from his dress shirts. Lost in his thoughts, Draco nearly missed the tiny POP of one of their house elves.

“Master Draco,” the creature squeaked out, “Madam LeStrange requests your presence in the Formal Hall.”

Draco’s head snapped up, irritated at having his privacy interrupted. Then he noticed the knife the elf was holding. The entire blade was covered in a glossy deep red. The yellow tea towel the elf was wearing was smeared with blood as well. Draco flinched. He had been so wrapped in his own torture that he had completely forgotten that Granger was nearby suffering the exact same fate and judging by the amount of blood in front of him, she may not even be alive. He sighed and squared his shoulders for what await him through the door.

* * *

Hermione’s screams creeped down into the dungeon. Harry’s eyes were squeezed shut and his hands covering his ears, trying to block out the agonizing sounds. Ron was pacing back and forth cradling an injured hand where he had punched the wall in frustration. Griphook stood silently in the far corner, as if attempting to put space between himself and the sounds echoing from above. Luna sat cross-legged on the damp floor, their eyes closed and quietly whispering under their breath. A loud clang and descending footsteps caused the group to whip their heads up in anticipation. The hope that Hermione was being returned to them was crushed when the rat-like face of Peter Pettigrew came into focus. He smiled nastily and pointed his wand towards Griphook.

“You! Goblin.” Pettigrew snapped. “Bellatrix has some questions for you.”

Griphook moved towards Pettigrew while carefully displaying his sharp teeth, a sign of defiance towards the soft-bodied wizard in front of him. Pettigrew’s smile faltered slightly, and he raised his wand.

“No tricks goblin.” He said shakily. “Up the stairs.”

Griphook and Pettigrew ascended the stairs. The remaining prisoners silently looked at each other, their uneasiness growing as they realized that Hermione’s screams had died. Slowly, a small smile began to grow on Luna’s face. Ron stopped pacing when he noticed Luna’s reaction.

“Why are you smiling you loon!?”, he screamed, “They probably killed Hermione and we are next!”.

Unperturbed by Ron’s outburst, Luna stood and gently placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder.

“Events are in motion. Can’t you see?” they questioned, “Ron, you really must have that hand looked at.”

Ron’s eyes bulged at Luna’s words. He ripped his shoulder form their touch and scoffed.

“Sure,” he spat out sarcastically, “I’ll let the next Death Eater I see know. They are known for their hospitality.” Ron stomped away while Luna bent down to speak to Harry, who was still crouching against the wall with arms wrapped around himself tightly.

“Harry?” Luna gently urged. “Harry, I need you to listen to me. Help will come.”

Harry’s green eyes gazed into Luna’s and slowly a scowl spread across his face.

“Help?” he muttered bitterly, “Who can help us here?”

“Help will always come to Harry Potter.” Luna insisted and turned to at the dungeon bars where Peter Pettigrew was descending again. However, as he opened the dungeon door, Pettigrew went rigid and crashed to the ground. Harry, Ron, and Luna all watched as a small figure appeared from behind Pettigrew’s prone body.

“Dobby!” Harry cried.

* * *

**The Formal Hall – at the same time**

Draco watched as Bellatrix screamed, shouted, stomped, and eventually cut into the goblin called Griphook. She had demanded everyone attend her interrogation of the Gringotts banker. But Draco wasn’t paying attention. He was watching the small and frighteningly still body of Granger. He was searching for any sign of movement. Draco had been able to disassociate with the majority of his fellow Death Eaters’ victims. Many of them had been strangers to him and Draco had become eerily accomplished at drowning out their screams. Slowly, a small lift of her chest flooded Draco with relief. He released a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He briefly returned his attention to the spectacle to confirm no one had noticed his lapse of interest. His father was standing nearby, a smug and dark expression on his sharp face and his hand hovering just above his marked forearm. Draco knew his father was itching to summon the Dark Lord, hand over the Trio, and have the Malfoy name returned to its past grandeur. His mother stood next to his father, her face carefully arranged to appear simultaneously interested and bored. Draco scoffed internally. He needed to constantly drain his magic through Occluding to get the same results. Apparently, they were teaching some sort of secret magic in etiquette class that allowed you to view torture without batting an eye. Bellatrix was unhinged as ever. She was circling Griphook like a feral cat, striking and clawing for information. Draco turned back to Granger and stilled. Granger’s eyes were cracked open, her gaze held fast to Draco. A single tear had slipped from those hazel-colored eyes and it cut straight to his soul. For a split-second, Draco felt his resolve crack and his magic react. It felt like those eyes were pleading him for help, begging him to reach out and take her from this. He felt himself lean forward, drawn towards her.

“No.” He thought vehemently, forcing himself to shrink back. He couldn’t help her. Once the Dark Lord appeared, they’d be lost and destroyed. The situation was useless. Suddenly, a flash of red appeared near the top of the stairwell to the dungeons. Draco narrowed his pale eyes and Potter’s wild mane joined Weasley’s.

“Why are those two out of their cage?” he wondered.

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Hermione lay, still unable to move, as spells begin to fly from every direction over her bloody body. The pain from the Cruciatus still wracked every muscle and every breath felt like swallowing crushed glass. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had a cracked rib from trashing violently beneath Bellatrix. Flashes of light crisscrossed and splintered wood rained around her. Voices shouted and threw curses. Lucius’s body went flying behind a large column. Draco had his wand raised, but Hermione was intrigued that he was only throwing defensive spells. He wasn’t actively casting against Harry and Ron. Interesting. Hermione saw Harry dart over and rip Malfoy’s wand from his grasp while shouting at Ron’s to save Hermione. Suddenly, Hermione felt her body being dragged backwards, lifted, and a knife thrust upon her throat. Bellatrix yanked back Hermione’s head and nestled her face against Hermione’s cheek.

“Move and I’ll slice that pretty throat of yours.” Bellatrix cooed, “The Dark Lord is most interested in you.”

Hermione whimpered but was distracted by the unusual sight of Dobby nimbly climbing the ornate iron chandelier anchored above them like a jungle gym.

How did Dobby manage to sneak into Malfoy Manor and what was he doing on a chandelier?

Through her narrow field of vision, she noticed Draco was also subtly observing the elf’s movements. However, he was making no effort to notify anyone of what was happening. Hermione heard Bellatrix hissing at Lucius to summon the Dark Lord. Dobby situated himself at the ceiling anchor of the chandelier and began to unscrew the bolt. It produced a loud squeaking sound which caused Bellatrix to jerk and look up in confusion. This movement caused the edge of the blade to press into Hermione’s skin resulting a sharp sting. She hissed in pain. There was a small metallic pop and the massive iron feature begin crashing down from above. Bellatrix screeched and threw Hermione to the side. More pain blossomed as Hermione crashed to the cold floor, her head cracking on the marble. The ground shuddered as the chandelier landed and she heard Harry scream her name. Mrs. Malfoy began to cast when a small gasp echoed, and Bellatrix growled.

“You dare steal a witch’s wand!?” Bellatrix shrieked, “How dare you defy your master?!”

Hermione’s heart leapt when she heard Dobby defiantly speak of his freedom and of how he would rescue Harry Potter and his friends from this evil house.

“No!” Harry cried, “What about Hermione?!”

“I’m not leaving her!” Ron roared.

“She shall survive this. She will not be abandoned. We must go now, or we will all perish.” Luna proclaimed, their voice full of resolve. Hermione heard a desperate sob bounce off the spell shot walls.

A brief moment of silence filled the air followed by a WHOOSH of air and Bellatrix let out a piercing howl. She whirled around and fled the Formal Hall, wailing loudly. Hermione heard Mrs. Malfoy let out a low, exasperated sigh and address her husband.

“Dear,” she quietly urged, “I suggest you prepare yourself for the Dark Lord’s displeasure. I’ll have the elves prepare extra vials of potion.”.

“Yes, my lady.” Lucius gritted out and exited the destroyed room in a swish of fabric.

“Draco,” Mrs. Malfoy began, ice creeping into her voice, “Take our 'guest' and find a room in the East Wing. I’m sure they’ll come up with ways to use her to their advantage.”

“Yes Mother.” Malfoy replied softly. Mrs. Malfoy turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the marble floors.

Panic begin to settle in the pit of Hermione’s stomach. They had left her. She felt as if her breath had been stolen. She was alone in this place. Utterly alone. Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for a way to escape despite the fact that her body was still incapacitated from curses and blood loss. Malfoy’s black shoes began moving in her direction and his slender face appeared above her, a tired expression etched deep in his eyes. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tears slid down her sunken cheeks as despair washed over.

“Try not to bleed everywhere.” He drawled and summoned an elf, this one in a green scrap of fabric bearing a faded Malfoy Crest.

“Take her to the Beauvert Suite in East Wing.” He snapped, “I’ll be up there shortly.”

* * *

Draco watched as the elf levitated Granger’s broken body and disappeared with a small pop. As soon as the room was empty, Draco dropped to the floor as silent sobs wracked his body. His mind reeling. Harry Potter had escaped, the Dark Lord would certainly be furious and take his rage out on Draco’s body again, and Granger was here. Granger. She would suffer greatly here. She would be tortured mercilessly until she begged for death. And he would have to witness it all. See her blood spilled over and over. Endure her screams. Invade her mind. Used until she was nothing but a shell and no longer served a purpose. Draco cried until tears no longer came and his breathing had returned to normal. He was surprised he could still cry after all this time. Draco stood slowly and winced. His wounds had completely reopened during the duel with Potter. He could feel the blood staining his robes. He sighed, quickly muttered a Vanishing Spell to remove the blood and tears and started the dreaded walk towards the East Wing. To a room that now contained a bushy-haired witch. A witch that was now Draco’s responsibility. Draco cursed under his breath.

Hermione silently thanked the house elf for handling her so gently. The small creature had vanished her blood encrusted clothes and dressed her in a simple, cotton shift. It hadn’t addressed her wounds and propped her up on a soft bed. Hermione was exhausted but the last dregs of adrenaline and constant pain kept her from completely collapsing.

“The Young Master will assist with your wounds.” The creature announced and began arranging a variety of colored vials with various liquids on a nearby table. The door opened abruptly, and Draco Malfoy entered the room. Hermione recoiled, eliciting a painful protest from her ribcage.

“Quit struggling Granger.” He scoffed, “It’s not me you should be worried about. Besides, I’m here to heal your wounds.” He walked to the side table containing the neatly arranged potions and inspected the contents of a green bottle closely.

She stilled and narrowed her eyes at Malfoy. She opened her mouth to respond but no noise came out and her throat began burning with renewed intensity. Draco snorted.

“I thought they called you the ‘Brightest Witch of Our Age’,” he mocked, “Obviously, they were wrong. Your vocal cords are torn from all the screaming. Take this.” He uncorked the green bottle and walked to Hermione’s side. Hermione eyed the bottle suspiciously.

“I’m not trying to poison you Granger. Poison should be the least of your concerns.” He retorted and waited for Hermione to open her mouth.

She watched him for a second, measuring his response, and slowly opened her mouth. A cool and soothing sensation coated her throat and the splintery burning subsided. She took a deep breath and looked at Malfoy.

“Why are you healing me?” her voice scratchy and skeptical but returned, “Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t trust me.” He replied, giving no further explanation, “Now take this one. It will help with the aftereffects of the Cruciatus.”

Malfoy fed her several more pain potions and frowned when he observed her arm. Hermione looked down and frowned as well. It was all wrong. The cuts should have been clotting over by now, but the blood continued to bead and snake in thin rivulets. She felt her heart sink when she saw thin, angry red lines spell out ‘mudblood’ down her arm. In a nearly cruel parallel, the mysterious magical symbol on her wrist shimmered gently. She recalled Bellatrix’s terrifying outburst at discovering the mark and she looked up at Malfoy, searching for an answer. His frown lines deepened, and something flashed in his glacial stare. Before she could consider it further, Malfoy spoke.

“Granger,” he sighed deeply, “Your situation has just become must worse.”

Suddenly, Malfoy gripped his forearm and hissed in pain.

“And apparently, so has mine.”


	5. The Marked One

**Chapter 5 – The Marked One**

_T/W: Mentions of Torture/Assault_

Hermione’s eyes widened with fear as Malfoy ripped his shirt sleeve open to reveal the Dark Mark. She gasped. It was horrifying to behold. The Mark was writhing almost as if a parasite was slithering just below Malfoy’s pale skin. It was outlined in a sickly red, as if the edges of the Mark were infected. Her eyes shot up to Malfoy’s, who was peering at her intently with a contorted grimace on his skin.

“This will be unpleasant Granger.” Draco spoke flatly and with a slow lift and flourish of his wrist, Malfoy disappeared beneath swirling dark robes and a gleaming mask. The emotionless silver facade turned in her direction and with a second flick, glowing restraints encircled her wrists. A small sob escaped her. This was it, she wept internally, she was about to vanish inside this stunning prison. She tried to cling to the hope that maybe Harry or the Order would come back from her, but she knew better. They would not risk losing “the Chosen One” a second time. If she was honest with herself, her life being lost in exchange for Voldemort’s downfall was a small price to pay.

“Come with me and do not attempt to escape me.” Malfoy commanded, “Only the Dark Lord and those of Malfoy blood can leave these walls.”

_“And apparently Dobby.” Hermione thought bitterly._

She gave a curt nod and grimaced as she stood up. Her legs wobbled slightly, apparently still unstable. She noticed Malfoy give a nearly imperceptible start towards her unstable movement. She promptly held up a hand.

“Do not help me Malfoy.” Her voice raw and amber eyes blazing. “I’ll face him on my own.”

She started awkwardly for the door, curls wild and tangled with blood, the simple cotton nightgown flowing behind her. Malfoy’s gloved hand shot out and spun her around to face him. Hermione was startled at how close Malfoy was when he raised her face gently with a single finger, demanding she lift her eyes to him.

“Bellatrix is child’s play next to him.” Malfoy hissed, his voice dark and low, “Do not speak and do not be a hero.”

Hemione’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t been this close to another wizard in many months. Malfoy’s mask tilted down towards her; no eyes visible but still seeing. Unexpectedly, Malfoy’s finger slid from under her chin and crept along the swell of her cheek. It came to rest on her cheekbone. The glove’s soft leather a drastic change from the abrasive scratching of Bellatrix’s nails. Unwittingly, a low sigh dropped from her lips. The space between them grew hushed and thick.

Malfoy abruptly jerked away and strode towards to the door. He wrenched the door open and motioned for Hermione to follow him. She stood there, head spinning slightly.

_He had warned her. He had touched her._

She shook her head violently. _No, why would Pureblood Draco Malfoy try to help a Muggleborn like her? Was this some sick, twisted Pureblood fantasy? Bastard!_

Hermione took a deep breath, wincing at the tenderness of her recently healed ribs, and walked to where Draco Malfoy stood waiting to escort her towards one of the darkest wizards in existence.

* * *

As she limped ahead of him down the corridor, Draco used the silence to prepare his mind from the Dark Lord. He couldn’t let the Dark Lord see that he had almost assisted Granger nor the forbidden and involuntary reaction he had to her outburst earlier. Draco had been stunned by the determination in her voice and was darkly fascinated by her strength. She was potentially marching to her own death with a fire and elegance he knew few possessed. Hidden behind his mask and spurred by her unwavering resolve, Draco had unconsciously traced the curve of Granger’s soft cheek. Despite her gaunt appearance, he had been surprised by the striking loveliness Granger held in that moment. Her amber eyes, lined with soft lashes, had regarded him with curiosity and uncertainty. Then that sound had flowed unbidden, from her lips. It had resonated throughout Draco’s entire being like a Phoenix’s song, leaving him bewildered. _How dare she?!_ He Occluded that image behind a particularly robust wall. He couldn’t let the Dark Lord know he felt any ounce of remorse, sympathy, or other illicit sentiments. Draco was becoming increasingly concerned that a growing number of memories were beginning to take shelter there.

Draco shook his head to clear the final memory sorting connections and focused instead on the marks Granger carried. The ‘ _mudblood_ ’ scar presented no surprise. Bellatrix was a particular fan of cursed blades. That injury stood little chance of healing properly and any scar it might produce would never fade. He carried similar scars of his own. However, Draco was intensely curious and vaguely disturbed regarding the peculiar second mark. Due to his family’s immense library covering of all kinds of magic, including Dark magic, Draco recognized this mark was like no other. The symbol was runic in nature and appeared to be embedded within Granger’s being. Just like the Dark Mark. Just like Potter’s scar. Yet, this mark did not feel like Light or Dark magic. It felt ambivalent. Nearly Grey, almost elemental. Bellatrix had observed the mark and reacted with a singular mania Draco did not know she possessed. Whatever the mark was, it was ghastly news for Granger. It had captured the Dark Lord’s personal notice and she would pay dearly for it.

As they reached the landing above the cavernous Grand Foyer, Hermione gazed up towards the wondrous ceiling of stars and sparkling celestial bodies. Knowing these were possibly her last moments of breath, Hermione wanted her eyes full of soaring comets, dusty swirls of nebula, and the radiance of many suns. She only had the tiniest of warnings when Malfoy made a strangled sound beside her. He crumpled to floor and writhed in agony. Her eyes flew open as her body was locked into a full-body bind. Feeling herself lift, Hermione’s body levitated down the stairwell where she landed softly in front of the snake-like visage of Voldemort. His crimson eyes gleamed at Hermione while his slit-like nostrils flared in delight.

“Bella informed me that you’ve been hiding magic. Magic that doesn’t belong to you.” He declared, his thin lips curling in disgust. “Let’s see this symbol, shall we?”

Hermione felt her arm crack away from the body bind. A small flick of Voldemort’s pale finger snapped her wrist upwards painfully. She shivered when his cold hands wrapped around her wrist and a long, jagged nail probed over the delicate mark. A circle of masked Death Eaters surrounded Hermione and Voldemort, making no movement as if holding a collective breath. Voldemort’s eyes darted to Hermione’s amber ones and he released a dark and surprisingly rich laugh. A few Death Eaters joined in.

“Bella, my most loyal follower.” He proclaimed, “What a treasure you have found us!”

_Treasure!? Had Voldemort gone mad? How was SHE a treasure?_ Hermione’s mind reeled. Bellatrix stepped forward and bowed low.

“Forgive me, my Lord.” Her voice probing and timid, “How is this disgusting Mudblood considered a treasure?”

“You dare question your Lord and Master?” Voldemort replied darkly, a threat laced within the words, “Hold your tongue on things you cannot comprehend!”

“Apologies, my Lord.” Bellatrix whispered and creeped back into formation.

“My Death Eaters, my most devoted acolytes!” Voldemort announced, his voice resonating, “This one bears the mark of a most Dark and Ancient One! Her powers, once realized and released, can be used to our advantage!” His mouth wide in a terrifying smile.

Hermione was utterly flabbergasted. Voldemort had just declared her in possession of ancient magic. Combined with the cryptic words Mr. Lovegood had previously spoken, she began to feel ill. Hermione was not special. Sure, she had grasped some spell work faster than others and understood magic on a deeper level but that was because she studied diligently and possessed a natural intelligence. No, obviously, splitting his soul has caused Voldemort’s mind to shatter completely. She had seen both Harry and Ron’s reactions to carrying a single shard of this monster’s soul. Around her, Voldemort’s laughter had died down and the smile slipped from his face.

“However,” his expression swiftly turning sour, “You failed to contain Harry Potter and his allies.” He prowled the inner circle, passing by each Death Eater, assessing. One by one, they shrunk back. Suddenly, one masked wizard dropped to the ground, grunting and thrashing.

“Lucius.” He murmured silkily, “You have failed me yet again. See how your heir suffers for your many shortcomings.”

Eyes turned to observe the younger Malfoy’s still, slumped form at the top of the staircase. Hermione gasped when she saw a drop of blood fall from the higher level to a small pool collected below. Voldemort spun around at the sound.

“Yes, Marked One, the son shall suffer the sins of the father. Only then will Lucius learn the depth of my disappointment in him.”

“You are a monster!” Hermione growled vehemently.

Voldemort flew to her bound body and clutched her throat, lightly squeezing. A soft chuckle emanated from him.

“I may be a monster.” he intoned, “But you, my wicked prize, are capable of much darker matters.”

Hermione flinched, even his breath was cool. No warmth existed within this man, no indication that he was even living. Her muscles were beginning to ache horribly from the body bind, the pain potions from earlier beginning to wear off. She fixated on Voldemort’s scarlet eyes and bared her teeth.

“I’ll never help you.” She ground out, fury laced in every word. Voldemort’s eyes glittered with malice and he bared his teeth in return.

“I never said I needed ‘ _your_ ’ help.” He taunted and released her throat. A quick flourish of his wand and Hermione was dumped onto the floor. “Lucius, the Marked One is now your ward. Do not fail me again or I will delight in tearing your family to pieces. Now, take her away.”

Voldemort and the Death Eaters Apparated out of the Grand Foyer, leaving the Malfoy family and Hermione alone. She cautiously glanced up where Lucius Malfoy was still kneeling on the floor and trembling, his eyes full of hatred and revulsion. Mrs. Malfoy was briskly ascending the stairs to attend to Malfoy. Hermione slowly stood, careful not to make sudden movements.

“You are fortunate the Dark Lord had chosen to prolong your miserable existence, you foul creature!” Lucuis shouted, “ _Crucio_!”

Electric spasms wracked Hermione’s already weak body and without a wand, she was powerless to stop the Elder Malfoy’s assault. Luckily, his cast wasn’t nearly as strong as Bellatrix. Hermione shrieked as the familiar pain snaked through her small frame.

“Father.” A tired voice called out, “We still need her alive. The Dark Lord granted her as our ward. As unsavory a task that might be, we cannot disappoint him again.”

Lucius Malfoy abruptly ended the spell and sniffed in disdain at the Younger Malfoy’s disruption. Hermione shuddered on the ground, a tiny part of her relieved Malfoy had intervened.

“Ciskey.” Malfoy ordered, directing his glare at Hermione as the crest-clad elf from earlier appeared, “Return her to the Beauvert Suite and make sure the door is secure.”

“Marked One, come with me.” Ciskey gestured to the stairs. Hermione stood crookedly and followed the elf, utterly exhausted and unable to process the dangerous situation she was in.

* * *

Draco sat hunched on the edge of his four-poster bed, swishing around a heavy crystal tumbler of Firewhiskey. As he watched the amber liquid swirl, he balked at the precarious position his family was now in. They had been declared personally responsible for Granger’s well-being and this unspoken magic the Dark Lord had decided to pursue had created more questions than answers. Draco scoffed into the glass before taking a large gulp. A quiet knock at the door interrupted his musings.

“My darling boy,” Narcissa spoke, “You know Firewhiskey and Blood-Replenishing potion do not mix.” She snatched the crystal from his fingers. He snorted. Mixing liquor with healing potions had not been his concern. Narcissa set the glassware down and turned to Draco.

“I do not care for the situation our family is caught within. However, we were not given a choice otherwise.” She stated matter-of-factly. “The girl will reside in the Beauvert Suite. I have tasked Ciskey with keeping her alive and ready for the Dark Lord’s summons. You do not need to concern yourself with her.” She walked to Draco’s side and gently took his hands.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Concern written in her pale blue eyes.

Draco sighed and nodded.

“Yes, Mother. However, I am exhausted and would like to retire.” He gave her hand a quick pat and stood up. Narcissa nodded and headed for the door bidding Draco a good night. Draco rolled his eyes. He hadn’t had a good night in many years. His body bore many cuts and scars, but his mind was far more damaged. He had been plagued with nightly terrors that never seemed to end. He usually resorted to Dreamless Sleep to shut out the demons, but he knew he was walking a delicate line of addiction. He grabbed the remaining Firewhiskey and knocked it back. The small pale purple bottle of Dreamless Sleep sat waiting for him, promising at least a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep. He snatched up the bottle, pulled the stopper, and went to tilt the contents into his cracked lips when he paused. _Granger._ She had been viciously torn from her friends, tortured, and forced to be a prisoner of the Dark Lord. All in a singular day. Draco pictured her quietly weeping, pain still wracking her tender bones without a single bit of comfort or knowledge she’d survive another night. He sighed deeply.

“Ciskey.”

_POP_

“Master Draco?” Ciskey’s golden-yellow eyes waiting and watching.

“Bring this Dreamless Sleep to Granger. Tonight will be agony for her. Tell no one.” He snapped, handing the tiny vial over.

“Yes, Ciskey will bring this to the Marked One.” Ciskey curtseyed and disappeared.

Draco sighed again and vanished the blood-soaked clothes from earlier. He eyed the large Firewhiskey bottle. He had been through hell today, a nasty headache tomorrow would be a small price to pay.

* * *

_POP_

“Arghhhhhh!” Hermione screeched, startled by the sudden appearance of a house elf. The elf looked at her in terror, obviously worried that punishment was incoming.

“I’m sorry!” She said quickly, hoping to stop the elf’s impending self-punishment they were so well-known for, “You surprised me, that’s all!”

“Marked One,” the elf addressed her, “I am Ciskey. I have been tasked with your well-being and have been instructed to bring you this Dreamless Sleep by Master Draco.” Ciskey produced an amethyst bottle filled with a clear liquid. Hermione examined the elf and the vial it held. She reached out and gingerly took it.

“Ciskey will go now. Rest, Marked One.” They assured and turned to leave.

“Please, wait!” Hermione exclaimed, “You said Malfoy sent this vial to me?”

The tiny elf nodded, its large ears flopping.

“He knew you’d be in pain tonight.” They replied simply. “Does the Marked One require anything else of Ciskey?”

Hermione shook her head and watched Ciskey vanish. She staggered over to the massive bed, climbed between the plush sheets, and uncorked the bottle. She studied the contents for a moment then looked up to observe the moon shining luminously through the gracefully arched windows. Hermione took a deep breath and tilted the bottle back.

“Thank you Malfoy.” She breathed and fell into a dreamless space.

Little did Hermione know that Draco was observing her reaction through a crack of the door nor did she see the ghost of a smile touch Draco’s lips when she had spoken his name in gratitude.


	6. Under Frozen Skies

**Chapter 6 – Under Frozen Skies**

**_2 Weeks Later – Sometime in January_ **

“We can’t leave her with them. The only reason we know she is still alive is because they haven’t paraded her corpse around!” Ron argued. He plopped down into a chair, which protested with a loud creak.

“No one is suggesting we abandon her, Ron.” Ginny scoffed. She was pacing back and forth in the overcrowded room.

“As unfortunate as Ms. Granger’s situation is, “Kingsley argued, “We can’t risk your or others’ safety, Harry.”

Harry Potter was standing by a rickety wooden chair, arms crossed, and feet planted defiantly.

“Neither Ron nor I would have made it this far without her!” He shouted, “Hermione is the only reason we still have a chance. I’m not doing anything until I know she is safe from him. Listen to me Kingsley, it’s time for us to fight back. We need to do something they won’t expect.”

Kingsley pinched the bridge of his nose and beckoned Lupin over.

“Remus, my friend,” his voice weary, clapping the tired werewolf on the back, “Time to contact your old schoolmate again.”

* * *

Hermione’s eyes cracked open to long rays of sunshine. The light poured into her room and shone brightly in her eyes. She sat up looking around the beautiful room that was surrounding her. She was exhausted. The nightmares she screamed into the night had not abated. She had sat day after day in this stunning place, with no contact beyond Ciskey bring her three square meals and bossily reminding her to bathe.

The lovely green ( _Slytherin green, she acknowledged with rolling eyes_ ) walls, ornately carved bed, and rich tapestries had astounded her the first couple days. Fortunately, no portraits resided in this room in which to spy on her. An elaborate fireplace crackled pleasantly nearby, keeping the room warm and tolerable. She had fingered the plush fabric surrounding the oversized bed, held by thick braided cords. In the attached washroom, she had run her fingers over the bright copper clawfoot tub illuminated by an overhead glittering crystal chandelier. It was easy to feel insignificant within this grandeur.

Hermione flinched, remembering that night’s particularly nasty dream. Bellatrix hadn’t stopped at carving that hateful word into her skin. She had just kept going, no matter how much Hermione begged her to stop. The word had covered every inch of her flesh and the wounds had wept and wept til the tiled floors were covered in a thin layer of Hermione’s blood. Lost in her latest nightmare, Hermione picked at the bandage covering the wound. Ciskey had to change it twice a day. It wasn’t bleeding as freely as it previously had, but the stubborn wound refused to close completely. A small blot of red began to seep through the white linen.

She groaned and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, where a headache was beginning to blossom. No one had visited her, and she had grown lethargic with the silence. The door was locked, and the windows had some enchantment in place that kept her from escaping. She had paced back and forth practicing non-verbal spell work to pass the time. So far, she had managed _Lumos, Wingardium Leviosa,_ and _Avia_. Unfortunately, _Alohamora_ hadn’t worked, but she suspected the charm on the room’s door was more advanced than that. The tea and eggs sat untouched as she padded to the bathroom. Hermione observed herself in the mirror. Dark circles lined her eyes and her chocolate mane seemed more wild than usual. She shrugged, probably from tossing and turning in her sleep. A creak put Hermione on alert, and she grabbed the nearest object to defend herself.

“A comb won’t help you or that sad excuse you call hair.” Came a snarky voice.

“Malfoy…” Hermione breathed out, relief flooding her.

He stood before her, tall and slender, in a handsome cloak of charcoal gray. He tossed her a similar cloak of deep, emerald green covered with a delicate design. Hermione made a face at the garment in her hand.

“Mother has requested I ‘escort’ you outside for fresh air. Can’t have you all sickly and withered away when the Dark Lord summons you.” He scowled. “Let’s go, Marked One.”

“Stop calling me that!” Hermione demanded. “I have a name you know. Plus, what does this ridiculous mark even mean!?” she huffed while dropping the comb with a clatter.

Malfoy shrugged and gestured to the lovely cloak, an irritated look on his face.

“I don’t know, Marked One.” He snarled, “I didn’t ask to be your personal babysitter and I’m not in the habit of questioning the Dark Lord’s motivations.”

“Well maybe you should!” she snapped. “What does he want with me anyways? To slowly go mad, sitting in this room day after day?” She tugged the cloak on and stomped out of the bathroom, pushing by Malfoy.

“Look,” Malfoy exhaled deeply, his frustration evident, “I don’t know what he wants. I’m just trying to protect my family and to keep the Dark Lord from bleeding me dry. I’m running out of room for scars.” He muttered bitterly.

That last sentence stopped Hermione short. Hadn’t she just dreamed of her body covered in cuts and scars? Odd that Malfoy’s words would echo her dreams. She wasn’t sure if Malfoy even meant for her to hear, the words had been spoken so softly. She slowly turned to him, a resigned melancholy filling her. He may have aligned himself with the Dark Lord, but it sounded almost as if he only did it out of necessity. She cleared her throat.

“Maybe some fresh air isn’t a terrible idea.” She said carefully, while drawing the cloak’s fur-lined hood over her willful tresses.

* * *

“Are you bloody insane!?” Mundungus snapped.

“That’s your plan?” Aberforth questioned, his shock evident.

I gotta say I’m impressed. Is this a Muggle thing, Harry?” George spoke, a tone of amusement in his voice.

Order members were shouting and arguing over the rescue plan Harry had just outlined. He stood by, waiting for everyone to calm down and fully grasp the idea. It was a long shot, but if this plan worked, this could potentially shift the war in their favor. Surprisingly, George was correct for the most part. Although Harry certainly wasn’t going to tell any of them that his idea was based very loosely on Muggle films. If they survived this, Harry would have to tell Dudley that his action movies had essentially ensured the survival of countless witches and wizards.

“Oi!” Tonks yelled, grabbing everyone’s attention. She winked at Harry who gave her a small, appreciative nod in return.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy.” He started.

“Crazy? It’s bloody ridiculous.” Ron grumbled, “I can’t believe you are doing this to her.” Harry shot him a look of contempt and continued.

“If this works, we can save one than more life and deal a severe blow to Vol-,” he stumbled, nearly activating the Taboo, “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” He released an annoyed sigh and waited for the Order’s response.

“Well,” Tonks announced cheerfully, “Count me in.” She turned to the group and gave an expectant look.

“It’s mad,” Lupin acquiesced, “But, just mad enough to work.”

“Tonks and I will locate the ‘scapegoat’ since we have Auror clearance.” Kingsley declared, “Mundungus, can you find what Harry has described?”

Mundungus Fletcher’s mouth broke into a wide-toothed grin.

“Black market items are my specialty.” He boasted and quickly scurried out of the room.

* * *

Hermione thought it was absolutely outrageous how stunning the grounds of Malfoy Manor were. The rolling hills were shrouded in a low mist, the ground covered in a sparkling layer of frost. A grove of dark pine trees stood silently ahead, dusted with fresh snow. To the left, a large glass and metal structure loomed with large stone steps leading to the entrance. A conservatory, she guessed. On her right, a massive body of water sat surrounded by elegant gazebos with icicle-clad weeping willows brushing their thin tendrils over the frozen surface. It was absolutely breathtaking, and she tried to imagine the glory of this place in spring with blossoms in full color. She scoffed.

“Is this place enchanted to look like a painting?” she demanded, “Because this is just absurd!”

Malfoy gave her a sideways glance.

“What are you going on about?” he murmured.

Hermione threw her hands up in defeat. Of course, Malfoy would have absolutely no idea what she was talking about. He grew up around this, season after season. He probably didn’t even grasp just how stunning his home was. She snorted thinking about how he might react to her parents’ house. They had been comfortable, with both her parents being successful dentists. He’d probably think her childhood home an absolute run-down hovel.

“What’s so funny, Marked One?” he grunted, “Or have you finally gone mad?” A shade of a smirk upon his mouth.

She whipped her head in his direction, the hood of her cloak falling off. She gestured wildly to their surroundings.

“This place is incredible.” She shook her head, coming to a standstill at an elegant marble gazebo at the edge of the lake.

“I-…I’ve never seen anything so…,” Her voice beginning to tremble, “…wonderful in my whole life.” She bit her bottom lip in an effort to stem the tidal wave of hot tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

* * *

He inhaled sharply, a disparaging remark poised on his tongue when his eyes connected with hers. She had been chattering on about his family’s ancestral grounds and when she had pivoted around, the viridian cloak billowing like a shimmering green mist against the pure white snow. Her hood had slipped off releasing unruly chestnut ringlets and a rosy flush on the apples of her cheeks. Her small physique framed by the skeletons of frosted willows on the edges of the lake, but it was her eyes that truly stilled the cold air in his lungs. Those burnished gold irises rimmed with watery tears had pierced to his core. The small tremble of her lips felt like a crushing weight in the pit of his stomach. This was wrong. Granger was otherworldly, as if the wintery scene were created just for her. Draco awkwardly stepped forward when a single tear fell from the corner of her eye.

“I…. Granger, you-,” his voice strangled, “Please, don’t…”

She tilted her head, a distressed and perplexed look on her face.

“You called me Granger.”

Draco blinked rapidly, realizing his error, and took a step back. He quickly cleared his throat.

“That’s enough for today. Let’s go.” He spoke sharply and took off in a near sprint back to the Manor.

* * *

**Another Week Later**

“Is everyone ready?” Harry Potter inquired, looking around.

Several Order members nodded while the rest stood still, radiating nervous energy. Kingsley and Tocks were guarding some dreamy-eyed wizard who was clutching a Portkey in one hand and an object similar to the artifact that had destroyed Xenophilius Lovegood’s home in the other. Harry was relieved Mundungus had managed to locate another one in the bowels of Knockturn Alley. They needed a rather large distraction if they were going to save Hermione.

“Now we wait for the signal.” Harry directed.

* * *

In an abandoned building, just north of London, two figures speak in hushed tones. One wearing all black, a look of disdain contorting their face. Another, in threadbare robes, extends out a scarred hand. The opposing figures briefly shake hands and disappear into the night.

Miles away, a doe Patronus appears in Draco Malfoy’s room. Startled by the intrusion, Draco draws his wand in alarm. The doe simply flicks her ears and waits for Draco to lower his wand.

“Severus,” Draco acknowledges, “It’s late. What is so urgent that you must appear in Patronus form?”

“Tomorrow morning, Granger will be brought before the Dark Lord for ‘The Rite’. Be prepared to leave this place.” Snape’s voice echoes from the glowing form. Suddenly, the doe’s flanks quiver and promptly vanishes.

“No.” Draco whispers, horrified, “Not The Rite.” 

* * *

A watery dawn rose, and another tray of food sat untouched next to the bed. Hermione was drained. Another week of nightmares and hardly any sleep. However, another scenario had entered her dreams lately. Malfoy’s odd behavior. He had called her Granger instead of that dreadful ‘Marked One’ moniker. She hadn’t seen him since. He had been so flustered. She had never seen him so unsure of his words. Yet, he was undeniably not the same snobbish, hateful brat from their younger years. A brat who had looked ridiculous with his slicked back hair and nearly permanent sneer, spreading vicious rumors and terrorizing anyone who wasn’t a Slytherin. Now, he was subdued and solemn. The haughty attitude remained but no longer held the mean-spirited bite it once had. His features had smoothed out to an elegant bone structure along with a streamlined, athletic build. But it was his eyes that had changed the most. They held a deep weariness that had startled Hermione. Those were the eyes of someone who had witnessed a lifetime of horrors. Hermione scoffed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She should be working out how to escape or deciphering the meaning of her mark, not imagining Malfoy’s damn eyes!

_POP_

“Marked One, your presence is required this evening.” Ciskey gestured to a gown carefully laid out on the bed, “Ciskey shall assist you.”

Hermione begin to shake. She hadn’t been summoned since her capture nearly three weeks ago. She became particularly alarmed when she noticed the exquisite detail of the gown. Her eyes narrowed.

“Ciskey, what exactly is that for!?” she whispered, agitated. The dress was a soft gray. A corseted bodice covered in meticulous lace detail and tiny pearls with a voluminous gray chiffon skirt, a silver chain draped next to it. But what truly stunned Hermione was the delicate diadem that flashed brilliantly with smoky stones and obscenely large pearls presented carefully in a black velvet-lined mahogany box. Would she ever cease being caught by surprise at the Malfoys’ immense wealth or highly sophisticated taste in fine clothing?

Ciskey studied Hermione and simply answered, “This is for the Marked One’s formal presentation.”

Hermione blanched.

“Are you telling me that I am to be paraded around like a debutante at some creepy Death Eater gala?!” her voice rising to a shrilly level as she slowly backed away from the house elf, “I won’t do this! I refuse!”

Hermione begin to gasp, her heart beating frantically. The room begin to spin as she struggled to take in air. As black fog crept over her mind, Hermione thought she saw Narcissa Malfoy’s elegant face appear, creased in mild concern and annoyance.


	7. Preparation

**Chapter 7 – Preparation**

Narcissa Malfoy was extremely alarmed about the well-being of the collapsed witch before her, not that she would ever let anyone see. She had witnessed both Draco and Lucius’s participation in ‘The Rite’. A shiver crept up her spine as she remembered Lucius’s weak and subservient response in receiving the Mark. He had knelt before the Dark Lord, brushing his lips against the hem of that snake-like monster’s robes. She remembered the pure revulsion and distaste she felt at his submission. No longer reminiscent of the strong-willed wizard she had married all those years ago. However, she sniffed with disdain, divorce was nearly impossible in the wizarding world. But, with Draco, her heart had broken. His teeth had been clenched in unspeakable pain as the Mark was cruelly carved into his flesh. Narcissa knew Draco would never admit that his body continued to reject the Mark and that it had truly only been done to prevent any further harm to his family. Narcissa silently regarded the witch before her. Riotous curls fanned around her like a halo. Narcissa took the uninterrupted moment to kneel and examine the supposed magical mark herself. She reached out and briefly hesitated, slightly perturbed at her proximity. Gently, she slipped her hand under their wrist and observed the duel magical marks. The ‘mudblood’ scar invoked a grimace. Bellatrix may be her sister, but Narcissa was absolutely aghast at her hysterical behavior. No member of the Black family would dare act so disgraceful. Narcissa dismissed the aggravating feelings and lifted the witch’s wrist for closer inspection. She raised another finger to trace the shimmering symbol. She paused, recognizing something familiar about it but was unable to place its meaning or origin. Narcissa took a deep breath and placed her hand over the icon, focusing her magical intent on discovering the symbol’s identity. A rush of colors and images flashed before Narcissa’s eyes and suddenly she was knocked backwards onto the ground in a wave of magic. Narcissa gasped and Ciskey rushed forward to assist.

“Mistress!” Ciskey squeaked in alarm.

Narcissa stared at the petite form in front of her, an incredulous expression dancing across her face.

“Ciskey,” Narcissa commanded, quickly standing while smoothing her hair, “Tell no one of this, especially Draco. Please revive the Marked One in preparation of The Rite.”

* * *

Hermione awoke with a sharp intake of breath at the sight of Malfoy’s mother standing over her, arms crossed in displeasure and heels tapping in irritation. Ciskey stood to the side, wringing their small hands.

“Is this a habit of yours?” Mrs. Malfoy snapped, “It’s been years since I’ve seen someone faint so much.”

Hermione stared, uncomprehending. _Why had she fainted? Wait…. the formal presentation!_

“I-… I’m not normally tortured or paraded around like some Death Eater toy.” She growled, remembering the lovely gown Ciskey had presented earlier, “I must have missed that particular subject in my academic studies.”

Mrs. Malfoy sniffed at Hermione’s response and uncrossed her arms.

“You are to be formally presented and unfortunately, I am the only one qualified to properly prepare you. Unless-,” she remarked, “You’d prefer my sister, Bellatrix, to assist you?” A smirk forming upon her lips.

_Well, now I see where Malfoy gets it from._ Hermione thought mockingly.

‘It appears I don’t have a choice in the matter.” Hermione muttered and peered up at the regal and elegant Malfoy matriarch before her. The quick-witted sarcasm was quickly replaced with a somber dullness.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” she asked, a tremble to her voice, “Will… will I survive tonight?”

Narcissa froze. _Sweet Circe, she thought frantically. The girl was ridiculously blunt, but surprisingly astute to her highly unpleasant situation._ Narcissa gave a quick toss of her head and waved her hand as if the question had been a bothersome fly.

“Would I put this much effort into a dead witch?” she responded using derision masking the dread bubbling up in her core. Hermione stood with a dejected sigh.

“No, I suppose not.” She admitted, “Mrs. Malfoy, would you be willing to prepare me for what I might face this evening?”

“I cannot as I have not been a part of this particular ceremony,” she declared, “However, I can assist in proper presentation etiquette that is expected of dignified and proper Wizarding society. Although, your hair will take immense effort.”

Hermione grimaced, already anticipating the attack on her scalp but secretly relieved that Narcissa Malfoy, of all people, had agreed to help her. Maybe, she thought, she might survive whatever this evening might hold.

* * *

Draco wished he were drunk. Utterly and profoundly drunk. Maybe that way, he could avoid witnessing the dark fate that would befall Granger tonight. She had no idea that she was being prepared for ‘The Rite’. That horrible, cursed event. The Rite was the ritual the Dark Lord used to burn the Dark Mark into his followers’ skin and defile their magic. Now, Granger was to receive the same blemish. _Didn’t she have enough marks on her arms?_ That blasted carving by his psychotic aunt and the even more cursed shimmering symbol that had caused all this mess.

Yes, he would very much like to be drunk.

However, Severus’s words had deeply confused him. _Be prepared to leave this place._ How would Draco leave this place? How could he leave his mother with a madman and that weak excuse for a father? The Dark Lord had had the Malfoys under house arrest for months and no marked Death Eater could escape the Manor without his knowing. _What did his godfather know? This was infuriating!_

Draco snatched the crystal bottle of swirling amber liquid and took a deep gulp. If he couldn’t be drunk, then he would at least drink the edge off. Sobriety be damned.

* * *

“There,” a small smile tugging at the corner of Narcissa’s thin lips, “You look properly presentable.” She gestured for Hermione to turn around to face the mirror.

Hermione gasped and tears instantly sprang to her eyes. She didn’t recognize herself. Her unruly curls had been twisted, pinned, and coiffed into an elegant style. A crown of braids and gentle waves brushed the hair from her face while soft ringlets draped down her shoulders and back. Light makeup had also been expertly applied. A rosy blush, a soft charcoal to accentuate her eyes, and a shimmering powder to brighten her complexion. Hermione’s wine-colored lips began to tremble. Her reflection was beautiful, but it didn’t feel like her.

“Would you prefer to start the makeup process all over again?” a bored and irritated tone asked, interrupting Hermione’s revery of her reflection, “Because tears will ruin my efforts and I do despise any waste of my time.”

“I am sorry, Mrs. Malfoy.” Hermione sniffed, “I just didn’t know I could look like this and it’s all because of this ridiculous mark.” She gestured vaguely to the reflection of her wrist in the mirror.

Narcissa paused and looked carefully at Hermione. Her eyes flicked to the symbol, widened slightly at the symbol’s reversed and mirrored reflection, and returned to Hermione’s face. The smile dropping from her face.

“I know you have never been presented in society, that much is obvious.” Narcissa acknowledged, an edge creeping into her voice, “But I find it very difficult that a young witch like yourself has never been made up before.”

Hermione shifted under Mrs. Malfoy’s intense scrutiny and begin picking at the edge of the robe she was wearing.

“I did my hair once for the Yule Ball our fourth year and wore a lovely dress that my mum helped me pick out.” She admitted, a deep melancholy settling over her words. “Yet, being on the run from a magical zealot doesn’t exactly afford many superficial indulgences.”

Narcissa chose to ignore the accusatory statement along with the rapidly growing concern for the fate of the young witch in front of her, who very clearly hadn’t the faintest idea of what lay ahead. She gestured to the nearby gown.

“This is nothing like the Yule Ball. I can assure you.” She scoffed. “Ciskey, will assist you with the clothes. I need to speak with Draco.”

Narcissa Malfoy quickly left the room, careful to hide the recognition and fear creeping across her pale blue eyes.

_She knew where she had seen that symbol before, and it changed everything._

* * *

Narcissa knocked urgently on the door to Draco’s bedroom.

“Enter.” Came a bored drawl.

Narcissa swiftly shut the door behind her and immediately cast a _Muffliato_ as what she was about to say to Draco would easily bring her death. Draco’s eyes narrowed at his mother’s spell work and he deliberately set down the empty crystal glass he had been holding.

“So?” he intoned sarcastically, “I assume you’ve heard the Marked One is to attend the Rite?”

“Quiet, Draco,” she commanded softly, “She cannot take the Mark. I-… that witch is of… I won’t allow…” she tapered off, looking torn at the words she was struggling to verbalize.

“Cannot allow what Mother?” he carefully probed, “If the Dark Lord wants her to take the Mark, who are we to stop him?” A weary expression snaking its way along his face. “Not even Severus can stop him.” He remarked bitterly.

Narcissa snapped her head around at Draco’s last statement.

“Why do you mention Severus?’ she demanded, “I did not speak of him or his plans.”

Draco ran a hand through his platinum strands in irritation. _How could he have let that slip!? Damned Firewhiskey!_ He exhaled and recounted the previous night’s conversation with his godfather. Narcissa stood still while absorbing the consequences of Severus’s instructions. After a minute of silence, she gave Draco a singular nod of acknowledgment.

“It would seem the direction I gave your godfather has been fulfilled.” She leveled her gaze at her son, eyes taking in his handsome features, and released a low sigh. “You shall heed his warning and be prepared to leave your ancestral home this evening. I will see that the elves prepare the necessary items.”

Narcissa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Draco, who jerked in surprise at her sudden affection and baffling words.

“Know that you are the final hope of the Malfoy name and the last light of my life, my most cherished son.” She whispered into his hair, her voice threatening to break.

Reluctantly, Narcissa released her only child and walked to the door. As she reached for the door handle, she turned back to gaze at his face one last time and gave a tired smile.

“Protect her as you would protect me.”

And with that, Narcissa Malfoy disappeared through the door.

* * *

Draco stood rooted to the floor as his mother’s form retreated down the dark hallway. He was still in shock from the words she had just spoken.

_Protect her as you would protect me._

Draco lurched violently towards the door.

“Mother!” he panted, running down the hallway, “Wait!”

He whipped his head around to make sure she hadn’t gone the other direction when he collided into a solid object. A shriek echoed around the dimly hit hall, lamplight flickering across the smooth walls. Draco threw out his arms and looped them around the body he had just slammed into, clutching the soft fabric to prevent them from crashing to the floor. When Draco’s silvery-blue eyes met warm amber eyes, the world around him vanished.

She was radiant. Soft waves framed her face, and her lips were shaped in a surprised “O”, a blush painted across her cheeks. He felt the wispy tendrils of her mahogany hair brush across his hand, which was wrapped around her willowy waist. His other hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threaded in the intricate braids. Draco drank the sight of her in. She did not appear human, more like a mirage of some painted goddess from the Masters. She was draped in the loveliest of fabrics, the smoky and diaphanous fabric rustling gently. The hollow of her throat adorned with a single blood-red ruby surrounded by tiny seed pearls wrapped in delicate filigree on a thin braided chain and Draco marveled. His eyes traveled down to where an intricately beaded corset pressed up flawless skin that was rising and falling with delicious breaths. Her small hands were braced against his chest and he swore to Merlin that she could feel his heart beating rapidly. The dazzling light reflected from the ornate tiara weaved through her hair threatened to blind him, but he did not care. Draco looked into her eyes, like warm pools of honey, and felt himself inexplicably drawn in. In the smallest of whispers, the being spoke.

“Malfoy?” she breathed.

Draco jerked back.

_Granger._

He violently wrenched her upright and pushed her away. She stumbled and caught herself on the wall, terror written across her lovely face. He had been absolutely bewitched by her, a revulsion washing over his body. He had reached for her. Held her. Been enchanted by her.

“Stay away from me.” He hissed, through gritted teeth, “You disgust me!”

Hermione stood awkwardly, her mouth hanging open in shock and sheer confusion. A crease briefly appeared in her brow, the hatefulness of his statement gradually sinking in. Regaining her composure, Hermione adjusted the folds of her lovely dress with an ease and grace that surprised Draco.

“No, Malfoy.” She replied smoothly, hatred dripping over every syllable of his name, “It is you who disgusts me.”

Misery rippled through Draco’s core. _What had he done and why was he being so cruel to her?_ Before he could respond, the sound of a throat clearing filtered through the hallway.

“There you are.” A deep voice called out, hidden behind a silver mask, “The Dark Lord has summoned us for the Rite. Escort the Marked One to the Grove.” The figure then vanished in a flurry of black smoke.

Draco inhaled and mentally steeled himself for what would come next. A quick wave and he was, once again, garbed in the suffocating black robes and heavy metal mask. He carelessly thrust out a gloved hand and turned to the striking witch beside him.

“Come, Marked One.” He barked, “We are summoned.”

She stared at his gloved hand for a moment and with a dejected sigh, gingerly slipped her hand into his.

Together they walked, in stifling silence, towards the darkness of the Rite.


	8. They Awaken

**Chapter 8 – They Awaken**

C/W: Animal sacrifice (not graphic but is included), Character death

_Author Note:_ _This chapter is much longer than previous chapters. So much character development happens and new facets of magic needed to be set up. I couldn’t find a proper break in this particular storyline without creating some sort of reading disconnect. Also, if you are so inclined, a couple of songs assisted in the development of this chapter. I recommend taking a listen while you read: “Running Up That Hill” by Placebo, “Circles” by Ludovico Einaudi, and “Haunted” by ADONA. If you really want to time it out, turn on “Divine Hammer” followed by “Roar of Saturn” by Audiomachine following mention of the **magical tidal wave**. I’m a sucker for operatic music and it sets the scene *chef’s kiss* perfectly. _

_Also, Welsh is not my birth language. I attempted to make the translations as accurate as possible. If you speak Welsh and can provide a more accurate translation, I welcome those corrections. The English translations are in parentheses to assist in clarity and flow._

_Lastly, thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and commented. I adore this fanfic writing adventure and all your wonderful encouragement has kept me chugging along. Much love - delphicpigeon_

The snow crunched softly beneath their feet as they traveled wordlessly towards the Grove. The use of groves for had fallen out of favor with the creation of wands. Prior to wands, magic had been traditionally channeled through rituals completed within a grove or anything other piece of land that had a particular concentration of magic. The Malfoys’ Grove had been a fountain of magic for centuries and was the source of the deep familial protection that surrounded their ancestral lands. Many a Malfoy weddings, historically known as hand fasting ceremonies, had taken place there. But Malfoy was sure that Granger already knew all this. In their early Hogwarts days when she wasn’t blundering around with Scarhead and the Weasel, her nose had always been deeply embedded in a book. His father had always been particularly horrified that _‘that disgusting Mudblood’_ had always beat out Draco in academic marks. Deep down, Draco truly hadn’t minded. Granger was ridiculously intelligent and had displayed a natural talent for magic even Draco couldn’t deny. If he thought about it, maybe that was what began his regression on his opinions towards non-Pureblood witches and wizards. He had always been told they stole magic, their magic was dirty, and other various forms of biased and hateful thinking. If their magic wasn’t pure or was stolen, then how was Granger so prolific in her spellcasting? Hell, he had even heard rumors she could cast a fully formed Patronus. He could produce one as well but the form was always misty – never solid. He sighed and looked sideways at Granger. Her breath was coming out in small puffs against the dusky evening air. He realized she wore no cloak to protect against the wintry breeze. However, she showed no outward sign of cold. Her mouth was set in a determined line and her eyes were dancing around, drinking in her surroundings, and almost calculating. He briefly wondered what was going on in that head of hers, then she took a deep breath and tilted her head towards Draco.

“This isn’t just a presentation. This is a ritual.” She stated matter-of-factly, “I’ve read enough about magic to know that magic performed within a Grove is traditional magic and incredibly powerful. What exactly is this Malfoy?”

Draco blinked. He should have known she’d figure it out eventually. He had dreaded her reaction in finding out just what exactly he was escorting her towards. Draco was mildly relieved, for once, to have the mask covering his reaction.

“The Rite, Marked One. The Dark Lord wishes to initiate you into his fold. He honors you with this favor.” He snapped, hoping Granger would not detect any note of concern.

Her steps faltered.

“The Rite?” her voice trembled, “Are you telling me that that psychopath is going to make me a Death Eater, like you!?” she ground out.

Draco flinched at the accusatory tone. He knew she was right. He was a Death Eater, no matter how much he hated it and he was bestowing the same fate upon her. Draco didn’t think it was possible to loathe himself any more than he did in that moment. Her words just made it that much worse. He only nodded in response to her questioning, unable to form any words.

“You should have just let me die that day.” She whispered, both deadly and heartbreaking in its sound.

Now it was Draco’s turn to stumble in his steps.

“ _No_.”

It was all he could manage to croak out.

“No?! Is that all you can say Malfoy?” she whirled on him, disgust burning in her eyes, “Do you really hate Muggleborns so much that you’d rather let them suffer in such a ghastly way?” she cried.

Draco could only walk forward. His throat had gone dry and his stomach was threatening to vomit up hot bile. He tightened his grip on her hand and begin pulling to prevent her escape.

“You monster!” she sobbed, attempting to twist her wrist from his grasp. Her wound tore open and began weeping. Soon, blood had soaked through the white linen encircling her arm. She cried and fought as Draco continued to drag her forward.

“Please Malfoy,” she begged, “Please don’t do this.”

So reminiscent of the words she had screamed when Bellatrix had cut into her.

Tears threatened to fall out of Draco’s eyes. The only reason he had the strength to continue dragging Granger forward was knowing that tonight, she could be free. Severus’s warning. His mother’s cryptic words. He was terrified of how far the Rite would go before Granger was gone. He couldn’t handle her pleas or her tears. She began to struggle even harder as the Grove came into view. Slowly, he pushed all his thoughts and feelings behind that wall in his mind and let the fog of disassociation settle over.

“I suggest you control yourself Marked One. This will be less painful if you don’t struggle.” He intoned, “He won’t let you die, no matter how much you beg for it.”

Hermione lessened her struggling, recognizing the resignation in Malfoy’s voice. He was clearly speaking from experience. Tears continued to streak down her face, smearing the makeup that had been so carefully applied. In her struggles, strands of hair had escaped. Combined with the smeared blood of her wound, she looked wild and feral. She turned her eyes to the Grove and gave one final stuttered sob before entering the wall of ancient trees.

The Grove was a perfect circle of twelve ancient trees, each a different species: Ash, Beech, Birch, Cypress, Elm, Fir, Hornbeam, Linden, Maple, Oak, Pine, and Willow. Beneath each tree sat a stone, a different symbol carved deeply into them. An elevated platform sat in the center where Lord Voldemort stood waiting, a gleeful smile plastered across his tight features. Masked Death Eaters stood quietly on the perimeter of the circle, partially hidden in the shadows but for the gleam of their silvery masks. The moon had fully risen by now and was shining softly. Hermione could feel the soft pulse of magic emanating from the circle and coursing gently under her feet. Despite the thick concentration of Dark Magic that flowed out, the Grove seemed to keep the majority of it at bay. Despite her fear, this piqued Hermione’s ever-enquiring mind. Voldemort’s power was deep, dark, and hideous but the Grove appeared to be containing it. The Grove’s magic didn’t feel Dark, but it didn’t feel Light either. It just simply was. She wept quietly as Malfoy escorted her over the circle’s threshold and into the moonlight. She found it odd that none of the Death Eaters stood within the circle. She quirked an inquisitive brow towards Malfoy as he released her arm and walked away to join Narcissa Malfoy near the edge of the outer circle, under the Hornbeam Tree. Malfoy vanished away his Death Eater visage and stood stoically with a carefully blank expression. Mrs. Malfoy had a curious expression on her face, a mix between concern and terror. Hermione was surprised to find herself sadden that Mrs. Malfoy had chosen not to divulge the nature of Hermione’s “presentation”. She thought maybe Mrs. Malfoy would have a small spark of humanity or motherly concern for Hermione’s safety. Hermione scowled, bitterly disappointed in herself for holding onto any shred of hope from members of the Malfoy family. For a moment, all was silent except the rustling of the many trees’ branches.

“Marked One.” Voldemort greeted, “Tonight we shall release the Most Dark and Ancient One and restore the magical world to its glory!” he proclaimed, a great sweeping of his arms encouraging rallying cries from the shadowed Death Eaters. The Malfoys stood by silently. Hermione was utterly confused. _Hadn’t Malfoy drug her here for the Rite? What on earth was Voldemort going on about? Was she a sacrifice for some magical being?!_

“On this night, the full moon of Imbolc, I shall call forth the Most Dark and Ancient One and bind their terrible magic to me! With this magic, all dark prophecy shall be ours and the world shall cower at our feet. The Marked One bears the vessel symbol, she shall be the cauldron from which all magical knowledge shall flow.” He shouted with a feverish and frenetic energy.

With a flourish of his pale hand, a solid block of black onyx appeared on the central platform. He beckoned Hermione forward. She violently shook her head and clenched her fists in a show of defiance. She wouldn’t be complacent in her own sacrifice and Voldemort was mad if he thought she would willingly walk to that stone slab.

Voldemort let out a soft laugh.

“Either way, Marked One, you will be bound to me by the end of this night.” His scarlet eyes gleaming in the light, “The ritual can begin without you.” Voldemort began producing various objects and placing them on and around the stone.

Red candles appeared. The air suddenly smelled of cinnamon. A bundle of wheat appeared at the edge of the slab along with a small silver mirror and an elegant ceremonial knife Hermione recognized as an athame. A small black cauldron had also appeared below the onyx platform. Suddenly, the tiny bleat of a snowy-white lamb drifted across the Grove. She hadn’t noticed it earlier. Hermione’s heart lurched when she realized that the lamb was meant for slaughter, not her. She was horrified at the small breath of relief and begin dry heaving when Voldemort magically summoned it to the side of the platform. He inhaled and begin speaking:

_I call upon the four corners. The four directions. The four elements._

_On this day, the full of the moon pours as shall this sacrificial settlement._

_Something must die so that something new and better can be unfurled._

_To call forth the Dark Goddess of the Otherworld._

Voldemort repeated the chant two more times and as a thin silvery light begin to glow around the platform, Hermione felt something begin to crawl up her body. As she looked down, she was alarmed to see ropes tightening on her ankles, wrists, and legs. She struggled to shake the creeping bindings, refusing to cry out or show any weakness in front of these sadistic people. Voldemort paused and motioned to Malfoy.

“Draco, I will need your assistance for this next part of the ritual.” He ordered, “Bring the Marked One to the altar.”

Malfoy hesitated and briefly glanced around as if he was looking for someone. Hermione observed Mrs. Malfoy wordlessly moving her lips towards Malfoy.

_No doubt urging him to finish the deed and rid them of this repulsive task._

Malfoy’s pale eyes flashed before he slowly stalked forward and with a strength that surprised Hermione, swept her up in his arms and began carrying her bridal style towards the circle’s center.

“How dare you!?” she hissed, “You vile, cowardly piec-”, Hermione’s words were abruptly stopped. She twisted her head towards Voldemort, who stood pointing his wand in her direction.

“We don’t need your words, just your body and magic.” He mocked, obviously enjoying the act of silencing her protests.

She struggled which caused Malfoy to only hold her tighter, his face illuminated as he crossed the line of silvery light near the altar.

“Stop struggling.” He hissed quietly, his hot breath brushing over her ear, “You’ll survive this and after tonight, you’ll be free.”

Hermione immediately stopped struggling in surprise.

_Was he telling the truth or just saying that to get her to stop battling against his arms?_

Unceremoniously, Malfoy dumped her onto the dark altar and stepped back. Her eyes rapidly switching back and forth between Malfoy and Voldemort. She had been here before. Her body bound, at the mercy of whatever cruelty Voldemort had in store, and no way out. Her body began to shake violently.

“Draco, you have crossed the threshold and therefore, are bound to the ritual.” Voldemort’s face contorting into some semblance of a smile, “You cannot leave until the circle is undone. You should be honored to witness firsthand the history we make here tonight.” He cackled into the night and turned to resume the ritual.

Malfoy gave no response beyond a suffocated grunt and Hermione saw that his hands begun to shake slightly. Apparently, Malfoy had not known that Voldemort would trick him into this position. She gasped internally, realizing that Voldemort had intentionally caused Malfoy to walk willingly into the ritual and that he was just as trapped as she was. She was so consumed with watching Malfoy’s reaction that she, mercifully, missed Voldemort draw the shining athame across the struggling lamb. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as it gave a watery cry and fell with a final thump.

_With this blood price, we shall summon the Dark Goddess poured forth from her cauldron,_

_With this grain of the Earth, we shall beckon the Most Dark and Ancient One to this chalice,_

_With this mirror, we provide a passage to her darkest realm,_

_With this willing son, we provide a consort on which to feast her malice._

Hermione thought her heart had stopped beating. Malfoy dropped to his knees at her side, shock plainly written across his increasingly pale features.

“My…My L-Lord?” he stuttered, “A consort?”

Voldemort turned to Malfoy’s crumpled form, malice radiating.

“Yes, Draco,” he replied smoothly, “This a binding ritual and a magical being of this magnitude requires a constant magical source to replenish her power. Your family pedigree spoke for itself. The Most Dark and Ancient One must have the highest quality magical feedstock. You were called “ _the Slytherin Prince_ ” during your years at Hogwarts, were you not?” he questioned.

“Please, my Lord,” Malfoy pleaded, “I am not worthy. I am no prince!”

Voldemort nonchalantly waved off Malfoy’s pleas. Hermione’s mind had gone blank, unable to understand just exactly what it was that Voldemort was insinuating. It was beyond comprehension. It wasn’t happening. This was a nightmare she was desperately wishing she would wake up from.

“You have no longer have a choice.” Voldemort sniffed, “You shall be bound to the Dark Goddess, allowing her to be bound to me through the Dark Mark. Now, we’ll continue with the ritual.”

Hermione had gone numb and was quite sure she had gone into shock once again. Her mind could no longer process the situation around her. She missed the words Voldemort began to chant, missed the sight of her magical scar beginning to glow, and missed the brush of liquid swirling across her skin in some tangible pattern. Suddenly, she felt the world shift.

* * *

Draco was still gasping for air following the Dark Lord’s revelation when he was blinded by a flash of light followed by a magnificently powerful burst of magic that knocked nearly everyone to the ground. Concerned, he turned to find his mother on the ground as well, but she appeared to be unharmed by the tidal wave of magic. Her eyes went wide, and a fearful gasp fell from her lips. Draco turned to the source of his mother’s terror and sharply inhaled at the sight before him.

Granger was floating above the altar, her bindings gone, and hands held out. Her hair and garments floated around her as if she were submerged under water. She opened her eyes but gone were those amber irises. In their place were deep pools of jet black, the whites devoured. A crown of floating stars had replaced the dark diadem that once graced her head. Her feet were dripping in a slick, black oil sizzling as it fell to the ground. Suddenly, her head was thrown back as if in agony and silent screams seemed to echo from her gaping mouth. The magical scar was still glowing brightly, marred by the river of blood flowing from her cursed wound. The numerous symbols the Dark Lord had drawn in sacrificial blood were glowing, etching themselves into her skin.

Draco could only gape at her. She was terrible and beautiful. Like a scorpion or viper, deadly but lovely in their form.

“Most Dark and Ancient One,” he addressed the figure, “We have summoned you here to bring about the transformation of the magical world.”

Granger, or the Most Dark and Ancient One, ended their silent screaming and tilted their head in Voldemort’s direction. Hair swirling like smoke, partially obscuring their features. Sound flowed otherworldly from their lips, in a language that felt both unknowable and familiar. Several Death Eaters cowered at the power contained within those sounds.

_Ni all unrhyw un fy rheo li. (No one can rule me.)_

_Fe’ch bradychir. (You are betrayed.)_

_Rhyddhau fi, gau broffwyd. (Release me, false prophet.)_

The stone altar groaned and the magic in the air begin to visibly crackle. They lifted their arms and the Grove’s twelve trees began to sway wildly. Blood continued to drip from their wound and the blood symbols on their body began slowing disappearing, one by one. Shadows began to rise and devour the Death Eaters, their scream of terror echoing around the Grove. Voldemort was attempting to throw curses at the drifting form. The being released a terrible laugh, a promise of doom. The silvery line surrounding the inner circle flickered out and another burst of magic surged forward.

“Draco!” cried Narcissa, realizing the ritual line had been broken. “Hurry!”

Draco scrambled to his feet and started running towards his mother, away from the frightening chaos behind him. Abruptly, the destruction froze. The being turned its dark gaze towards Draco.

“ _Draco_.” they breathed, reaching out a slender arm, “ _Minu armas. (My beloved)_ ”.

At their words, Draco roughly released his mother and was lifted upwards. The shadowy goddess moved closer, rippling like dark water. With a gentle flick of her wrist, tiny runes begin to shimmer across Draco’s pale skin, similar in color to the one glowing on her wrist. Narcissa gaped at her son was lifted, terrified by the vision in front of her.

“What the bloody hell is happening!?” he screamed aloud.

“You are her consort!” Voldemort bellowed from behind Granger’s form, “She has begun the binding and then the transformation is complete! Once those blood symbols fully absorb, I shall have my most powerful weapon and bring the magical word to a new order!” he began laughing manically.

A flash of movement interrupted Voldemort’s gloating. A lone Death Eater had stepped forward holding an item covered in black cloth. Voldemort turned his attention to the figure, irritated. With a wave, the silver mask faded away.

“Severus,” Voldemort warned, “Return to your place.”

Snape ignored Voldemort’s command and turned to the two drifting figures in front of him while slowly approaching the outer circle. Draco twisted his head while still observing Granger from the corner of his eye.

“Draco,” he drawled, “What has started cannot be undone, but it is not final. Remember this.”

Draco’s brows drew down in confusion. He returned his attention to the magical being before him in alarm. She was nearly touching him, only a couple inches away, and his skin had started to prickle uncomfortably with the flow of magic dancing around her. Somewhere in the corner of his mind, he was fascinated. This magic was ancient, wild, and dangerous. It fed his magical core with an intensity that was dizzying. He knew he should be properly frightened, but he was more concerned about his status as some damned consort to Granger – goddess or otherwise. And what in Merlin’s name was Snape doing? Was this the plan? How was Granger supposed to escape while she was possessed by some ancient magical being?

“Severus,” Voldemort hissed once more in warning, “Do not breach the outer circle. You risk interrupting the ritual and risk your death for your disobedience.”

Snape sniffed at Voldemort and stepped towards the boundary. He let the cloth drop away from the item he held. There was a ripple of sharp inhalation in the throng of Death Eaters and hushed whispering followed. Narcissa gasped, realizing what Snape intended. That was an Erumpent Horn. A volatile and highly explosive magical item. With that, Snape stepped into the outer circle – breaking the glowing line.

Voldemort howled in rage and wound to throw the Killing Curse when a high-pitched shriek echoed through the trees, stopping him mid-cast. Draco dropped to the ground just as the being’s fingers were about to brush his hand, legs buckling beneath him. She had thrown back her head, a piercing cry emanating from her throat. Then as quickly as the sound came, it stopped, and she plummeted to the ground in a broken heap. A single blood mark remained visible on her bare shoulder.

Snape gave a curt nod towards Narcissa, who began scrambling towards Draco. She reached him and withdraw a familiar beaded bag along with a delicate brooch she had unpinned from her cloak.

“Draco,” she whispered, stroking his disheveled hair, “Save yourselves. Everything you need is in this bag.”

She handed him the platinum brooch, inlaid with a design carved in moonstone. It shimmered softly in the moonlight. _Similar to Granger’s mark_ , he thought offhandedly.

“This is a Portkey.”, she explained, a tremor in her voice, “It will take you two to a safe house. He will not find you there.”

Draco opened his mouth to protest when she silenced him with a finger to her lips. She gave him a weak smile as tears fell from her eyes. She looked up and gave a final nod to Snape.

“This is for Lily and the other lives you stole.” Snape growled menacingly, “The witch had it right. You are betrayed.”

With that, he wordlessly cast upon the curved horn in his hand. A blinding light illuminated the Grove and Narcissa barely had enough time to throw up a Shielding Charm over herself, Draco, and the unconscious witch’s form.

“NOW DRACO!” she yelled over the din of the explosion, “TAKE HER AND GO!”

“I can’t leave you Mother!” Draco cried, “I can’t leave you with that monster.”

“Draco listen to me,” she ordered, “You two escaping is our best chance to survive this. We are Malfoys. We don’t let opportunities go to waste – we seize them. Now, take the girl and leave!”

Draco hesitated before reaching for Granger, wrapping an arm around her waist. He took one last look around. The blinding light had receded to wild flame and Death Eaters were running aimlessly around the Grove while some laid on the ground, unmoving. Voldemort’s shape was visible within the flames.

“PORTUS!” Draco shouted, a deep frown etched on his mouth as he and the slumped witch disappeared from the Grove.

Narcissa closed her eyes, knowing that for now, her son was safe. In a flash, all the flames were extinguished. Voldemort stood, looking around wildly at the chaos and destruction around him. He released a guttural roar upon realizing Malfoy and the marked witch were nowhere to be found.

Flashes of green light glittered through the trees and terrified shrieks resonated off the stones while the moon watched on, silent and serene.


	9. Sanctuary

**Chapter 9 – Sanctuary**

_A/N: Ahhh! Thank you to everyone for your kind words regarding the last chapter! It was a doozy to write but still quite fun! This chapter will be a bit softer – aftercare is important y’all. I’ve taken some liberties with the timeline (aka really diving into the canon divergence) as well – I’ll try to provide little time prompts so it’s easier to follow. For those interested, I am a very visual person. Which means I have Pinterest boards galore to assist in descriptions. So here ya go – Pinterest board for Sanctuary:_ [ _https://www.pinterest.com/DeltaRaeDixon/delphicpigeon-inspiration/sanctuary-metanoia/_ ](https://www.pinterest.com/DeltaRaeDixon/delphicpigeon-inspiration/sanctuary-metanoia/)

_With all the madness going on in the US, I just want to thank everyone for taking the time to read this lil story of mine. Self-care is important and I hope this story brings you comfort. **Much love, delphicpigeon**_

* * *

Draco landed in a mess of arms and legs in the early light of dawn. He quickly disentangled himself from Granger’s heavy form and staggered to a tree. He released the meager contents of his stomach with gut-wrenching sobs. He had left his mother. Snape had blown himself and several Death Eaters to pieces. Worst of all, Voldemort knew they had escaped and would ruthlessly hunt them down like animals. He gagged on the acidic taste in his mouth. A quiet rustling from behind caused Draco to whip around, wand held aloft.

“Malfoy?” came a confused voice, “What h-happened?”

Draco studied Granger’s disheveled appearance. She was laying on the ground on her side, propped up on one arm. Blood caked on her injured arm and her hair hung matted and wild.

“You don’t remember?” he asked, disbelieving.

She winced, attempting to sit up. She gripped her head and squeezed her eyes shut, a look of pained concentration on her face. Her lips murmuring softly as she walked herself mentally through the evening’s events. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open.

“It can’t be.” She faltered, “I-, she…wait a minute.”

She whipped around to face Draco, an incredulous expression splashed across her face.

“ _Minu armas_.”

Draco stilled. He remembered the thrill at hearing speak his name, but he immediately buried that for much later consideration. She stared at him for a long moment, waiting for his explanation. Draco raised a shaky finger and pointed at her bare shoulder. She peered down in confusion and gasped upon seeing the smeared blood. Granger frantically began trying to wipe the red symbol away while also attempting to check herself for any other markings. Tears were streaking down her face and she began hyperventilating, breaths coming out fast and ragged. Draco took a small step towards her and the movement caused her to freeze like a cornered animal.

“Granger,” he snapped, “If you keep doing that, you’ll pass out again.”

He took another step towards her.

“What happened, Malfoy?” her voice shrill, “I only remember a flash of light and then I was here…with you.”

Her large, amber eyes watched him – demanding answers. Draco released a breath, relieved those eyes were no longer deep pools of glinting black.

_She truly didn’t remember what had happened to her._

He took a deep breath and looked around, observing a muddy and rutted road with a snow-covered cottage peeking from the twisted trees.

“First, let’s get inside somewhere.” He ordered, “I don’t care for being out in the open like this and if you haven’t noticed, its bloody freezing.”

The snide remark seemed to knock Granger out of her dazed mindset. She looked around as well and when her eyes landed on the cottage, she turned to peer up at Draco.

“I suppose.” She sighed and struggled to stand under the weight of her torn dress, the hem caked in mud and wet from sitting in the snow. She toppled in a huff.

“You know,” she ground out, “I thought Purebloods were supposed to be all about manners and etiquette. Some assistance in standing would be helpful.”

Draco smirked at her irritation.

“Yes, we Purebloods are trained in all societal graces,” he responded, his pale brow quirked in amusement, “However, watching you struggle is immensely entertaining.”

“Malfoy, you are such an arse.” She snapped, finally finding her balance.

Draco snorted and turned to walk towards the cottage with Granger trailing behind him.

* * *

Hermione watched Malfoy walk away, his dark robes a stark contrast to the soft white surrounding them. His hair was disheveled from the Portkey journey and his face more pale than usual. Hermione was, once again, completely in the dark. She found this incredibly irritating. From the supposed “Rite” to the surprise ritual and then her whole world going dark. All she could remember was unknown words like a song rippling through the dark and the soft sigh of a woman. Hermione vaguely recalled the feeling of deep longing. A longing so intense, she felt like she might drown in it.

_Minu armas_.

She stopped walking. Those words she had spoken upon waking. Why were they so familiar and why did they keep echoing in her mind? Hermione inhaled the crisp, cool air and let the small wintery wind caress her skin. She heard the sharp chiming of ice crystals swaying in the air and the burble of nearby water. Hermione spread her fingertips, almost as if she were reaching for something. A deep rumbling moved up from the earth, a smooth rush of magic pierced through her core. The air and earth intertwined and danced, filling her with elemental power. Snow began to dance around her hands. She had never felt so connected to magic.

Hermione gasped in delight, her face lifted to the misty gray sky. She was so lost in these sensations, she didn’t notice Malfoy had stopped walking as well.

“Granger, what the hell are you doing?” he grumbled.

Hermione blinked and dropped her arms. The sensations abruptly stopped.

“I…er-,” she mumbled, “Its just, um, really pretty here?”, she fiddled with a frizzy curl, purposely refusing to look at Malfoy.

He narrowed his eyes, evidently not believing her stuttered words, and resumed his trek to the cottage. Hermione quickly scurried after him, baffled at her actions.

_What in Circe’s name was going on with her?_

She shook her head, despite her ever-growing list of questions. If Hermione Jean Granger was good anything, it was researching for ridiculously difficult answers to questions no one ever thought to ask. First it was Horcruxes, now it was unexplained expanded magical abilities after a blackout. Not to mention, she was also utterly alone with Death Eater Malfoy Jr. in some unknown location with no knowledge of how she got there. That was a completely different set of questions. Oddly enough though, she didn’t feel threatened by him. Irritated and exasperated, yes, but not concerned that he would harm her. She snorted at the absurdness of it all. A couple more steps and she arrived at the side of Malfoy, who was scrutinizing the small cottage before them. A sharp look of disdain on his face.

“Some sanctuary.” He sniffed, “But the wards seem solid enough.”

Hermione looked sideways at him. Of course, he’d turn up his nose at this humble cottage.

_Snobbish twat._

“It looks perfectly fine to me.” She countered, “Much better than a tent with two moody boys. Although, I’m not sure a cottage with a pretentious prat is much of a upgrade.” She gathered her skirt and pushed past Malfoy and through the door. Malfoy stammered after her, unable to form a sardonic response. A smug grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

_Good to know her mental faculties were still sharp enough to shut down Malfoy’s wit. He was still, or at least had been, second only to her in their academic record._

Malfoy huffed, wisely choosing to ignore her jab, and shut the door. He grimaced at the state of the cottage. Hermione couldn’t help but scowl as well. The cottage was in great disrepair. Ash spilled out of the fireplace, furniture was overturned, and cobwebs drifted softly from the wooden rafters. Thankfully, the roof appeared to be stable and the windows intact. The interior, however, needed a very thorough scrubbing. Malfoy ran his fingers over a large wooden table and pulled his hand back, a sneer distorting his features.

“This place is filthy.” He complained, “It isn’t even fit for servants.”

Hermione rounded on him.

“Servants?” she shrieked, “You self-righteous, pompous arse!”

A crackle of electricity sparked through the air. She squared her body towards him and begin stalking forward.

“Would you rather be back at that horrible place you call a home?” she seethed, “Torturing and murdering people with all those psychopaths?”, the air began rapidly cooling around her and wind started whipping inside the cottage.

Soot swirled and Malfoy began choking on the thick, gray ash.

“How DARE you complain!?” her voice rising, “I nearly died because your bitch of an aunt decided I was her own personal carving board and Merlin knows what that sick madman did to me while I was unconscious!?”

Ice crystals began forming on the rafters and windows while a nearby cup shattered. Malfoy flinched as shards flew, still suffocating as the ash spun faster and faster.

“Granger!” he choked out, “Stop!” he struggled to walk towards her, fighting against the gale of freezing air.

Hermione didn’t hear him as the din of her fury continued to grow, her eyes growing darker – the shadow quickly overtaking the amber. Quietly, a voice spoke in her mind.

_Child. Do not harm him, for he knows not other ways._

Hermione panicked. _Where was that voice coming from?_ She listened, waiting for the voice to return. She was met with internal silence.

The room continued its maelstrom of ice and cutting air. Malfoy was shivering, his clothes starting to crystallize from the sub-zero temperatures pulsing from her.

“Please!” he gasped out, as the tips of his fingers slowly starting to blacken.

Suddenly, Hermione was drawn back to the present. She inhaled sharply, realizing the destruction she was causing. Malfoy was cradling his hands against his body, shards of ice spiking from his clothes while a thick cloud of ash hung in the air.

“Malfoy.” She whispered and instantly the soot fell to the floor, further blanketing the interior of the cottage. The coldness quickly dissipated and returned to a normal temperature. She rushed towards Malfoy’s shuddering form. He recoiled when she came to his side, further tucking his hands towards his body.

“I am so sorry.” She whispered softly, “Please let me fix this.”

Slowly, Malfoy withdraw his hands from his cloak. Hermione gasped at the state of them. His pale hands were a sickly blue with the tips a deep gray. She felt sick. Frostbite. She had frozen his fingers. What kind of monster was she? Quickly, she wordlessly summoned a nearby jar that had managed to survive the destruction and lit her signature bluebell flames to provide some warmth. Malfoy was watching her closely, obviously still concerned she would go on another magical rampage.

“I am going to try and reverse the frostbite alright?” she explained, “Please hold out your hands.”

He sighed and nodded, slowly extending his injured hands forward.

“No tricks Granger.” He grunted, eyeing the blue flames gently flickering nearby.

“I promise.” She insisted, “Now be still.”

Hermione took a deep breath in, placed her hands just above Malfoy’s, and closed her eyes. She concentrated on the magic still swirling inside her and reached for the similar magic contained within Malfoy’s hands. She felt her breath catch as the magic begin flowing back into her hands. She cracked her eyes open and saw a soft blue light glowing from between their hands. She was incredibly relieved to see the darkened tips recede and color return to his hands. Once all the magic had returned to her and the blue light faded away, Malfoy snatched his hands back and shoved them deep into his pockets.

“What the hell was that Granger?” he barked, “Is freezing people’s hands your way of saying thanks for saving your life?”

Hermione shot Malfoy a nasty look.

“Normally no, but I make exceptions for ungrateful pricks.” She retorted, “Are you always such a snob Malfoy?”

Malfoy opened his mouth, obviously to make an equally snarky response, but was interrupted by a tap on the windows. Both Hermione and Malfoy turned to the source of the sound, their bodies both in defensive poses. Hermione shrieked in recognition.

“Hedwig!”

She ran to the window, quickly letting the familiar owl in from the cold. Hedwig thrust out her leg where a small scroll was attached. Hermione removed the letter and mumbled a small apology to Hedwig for their lack of owl treats. Hedwig only hooted softly in response. The letter was written in Harry’s messy scrawl. Hermione felt her heart constrict at seeing his handwriting. _Thank Circe, he was alright._

_Dear Mione,_

_The plan worked. We were able to get you and the Ferret out. Unfortunately, that was Snape’s condition for getting you out. This is an Order safe house – it’s a remnant from the first Wizarding War. We won’t be able to get to you for a month. I am so sorry, Mione. Don’t reply – Hedwig is too recognizable. Lay low and I’ll see you soon._

_Harry_

Hermione’s jaw dropped.

_She was stuck in this place with Malfoy, of all people, for a month! And what plan was Harry referring to?_

Malfoy snatched the letter out of her hand. He snorted after finishing the short missive.

“A month?” he grimaced, “Think we can go that long without hexing each other to death?”.

He crumpled the paper, dropped it into the fireplace, and promptly set it alight. He looked up at Hermione, who was still standing silently. He waved a hand in front of her face.

“Earth to Granger.”, he called.

Hermione jerked and stared at Malfoy. She groaned inwardly and turned her attention to the snowy owl to her left.

“Hedwig,” she spoke, “I understand. I’ll see you again soon.”

She gave the owl a small scratch, who hooted happily in response, and left in a great flash of white feathers. Hermione looked at Malfoy.

“Now, what do we do?” she asked, concern heavy in her voice.

* * *

Draco was astonished. He was stuck with Granger in this hovel for an entire month. No, not just Granger, but some volatile magical being that was capable of incredibly strong elemental magic. Nor did Granger seem to realize that all her shows of magic had been wandless. It seemed to Malfoy that Granger’s near-binding to the “Dark Goddess” now allowed her to cast magic similar to the Old Ways. That type of magic hadn’t been performed for centuries. He huffed. Thank Merlin, the Dark Lord didn’t have access to that kind of magic. Granger seemed to be waiting for a response from him. Draco scowled.

“How am I supposed to know?” he questioned, “I’ve not been in this particular type of situation before.”

He gestured to the chaotic disarray of the cottage while looking at her pointedly. She only continued to stare at him blankly.

“Look, Granger.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It’s been a long day. You look like hell. I feel like hell. Let’s revisit this after getting some rest, alright?”

Granger nodded mutely, overlooking Draco’s comment at her appearance. Draco pulled out his wand and vanished all the ash, revealing a lumpy couch, an overturned armchair, and a small end table. Draco sighed and conjured a couple blankets while righting the jumble of furniture. He turned to observe Granger silently light a fire in the hearth. An orange glow was cast over her features as she kneeled on the stone floor, stoking the fire with small logs. He saw a single tear roll down her flushed cheek and a small sniffle sounded out. Once again, Draco felt his determination crack. He wanted to be angry at her and her stupid friends for putting him in this position, especially for leaving his mother all alone. It wasn’t truly Granger’s fault, but she was all he had to focus on. He stifled a groan – this was going to be an exceptionally long month.

“Granger,” he spoke, “You can take the couch. I’ll take the armchair. We have no idea what state the rest of this hut is in and we are both exhausted.”

Granger quickly wiped her cheek with the heel of her hand and stood up. She padded over quietly and tucked herself under one of the blankets, pieces of her gown from the previous evening peeking out and shimmering softly in the warm glow of the crackling fire. Draco lowered himself onto the opposite armchair with a grunt, tucking a blanket to guard against the cold of the dying afternoon light. He closed his eyes and let out a deep, exhausted sigh. A long month indeed.

“Malfoy?” Hermione ventured.

“Hmm.” Draco responded, cracking open a single pale blue eye at her.

“Thank you for saving me.” She spoke gently.

“Go to sleep Granger.” He yawned, closing his eyes once again, “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

* * *

_End of chapter A/N: Hedwig lives. Sue me._


	10. Kismet

**Chapter 10 – Kismet**

_A/N: A couple things. I made Hermione’s alteration of her parents’ memories permanent – it fit the storyline better. Also, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for reading, celebrating, writing, supporting, and creating these little magical worlds. These are tough times and fanfics are such a wonderful love language. -delphicpigeon_

Hermione’s eyes cracked open to the midday sun filtering through the window, motes of dust floating lazily in the air. Her body felt sore and stiff from the lumpy couch, but she was relieved to have slept through the night. She sat up quietly and noticed with a shiver that the fire had gone out. With a soft groan, she lifted herself off the couch and set about re-lighting the fire. Orange flames leapt to life and gave out a happy crackle. A whimper caught Hermione’s attention and she turned to Malfoy’s slumped form. He was still asleep, strands of platinum hair had fallen across his face and his mouth was pursed into a frown. He was dreaming, but it didn’t appear to be a good one. Hermione crept closer and Malfoy twitched, struggling against whatever demons were haunting his mind. He let out another moan, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his pale features.

“Mother.” He whispered, a rough edge to his voice.

Hermione stilled. Mrs. Malfoy would still be at Malfoy Manor. She felt a twinge of guilt and regret. Mrs. Malfoy had helped her, she supposed. Malfoy continued groaning in his sleep.

“Had to save her.” He murmured, his brow creasing further, “My beloved.”

Hermione twitched at his words. _Was he referring to her?_ Malfoy began thrashing violently, fighting against the heavy blanket draped across him.

“Malfoy!” Hermione cried, “Wake up!”

She rushed forward and shook Malfoy’s shoulder, yelling for him to wake up. His eyes snapped open and locked with hers. Hermione became acutely aware of how close her face was to his. She stumbled back. Malfoy looked around wildly and coughed, clearly confused at her proximity.

“What happened?” he questioned, suspicious.

“You were having a nightmare,” Hermione responded awkwardly, “I was worried that you…might…well, you know, hurt yourself.”

Hermione could have smacked herself in the face. _Why was she being so awkward and weird? It was perfectly normal to wake someone when they were thrashing about and having a nightmare_. She attempted to brush off the feeling and met Malfoy’s bewildered expression.

“You were worried…” he echoed, an odd tone to his voice, “About me?”

She shrugged noncommittally. Trying to find anything that would get her out of this incredibly uncomfortable conservation, she looked around. Her eyes traveled to the kitchen, landing on a kettle. _Perfect!_

“I’ll try to locate us some tea.” She replied quickly, too quickly.

Malfoy snorted softly.

“Smooth exit Granger.” He teased, “However, tea does sound fantastic.”

* * *

Hermione cringed at his accurate observation of her behavior. She had been in the company of Gryffindors for much of her magical life, subtlety was not their strongest suit. She busied herself, preferring to think on the task of preparing tea. The kettle looked to be in usable condition and a tin on an upper shelf, thankfully, contained packets of tea. She turned on the faucet and filled the kettle. The water came out clear and cool. Hermione was extremely grateful this cottage wasn’t too old for modern plumbing and the pipes were magically enchanted to prevent freezing. She blew the dust off the stove and set the kettle down while lighting a small fire with a flick of her finger. Hermione froze.

_Wait a minute. How long had she been conjuring fire without a wand? Even more, how had she been doing magic this whole time without a wand!?_

“Finally catching onto that little development, aren’t we?” came Malfoy’s amused voice.

Hermione turned around and narrowed her eyes at his smug expression.

“You aren’t surprised.” she accused, “How long have you noticed?”

“Since we got here.” He answered simply.

Hermione was absolutely mystified. _Sure, she could do a few wandless spells, but this was something else!_ She brought her hand to her temple, a headache quickly blooming. She looked up at Malfoy again.

“Before you ask,” He spoke, holding up a hand, “I don’t know much. I’ll tell you everything I know after I’ve had a cup of this mediocre tea.”

Hermione gave a curt nod of agreement. If he could explain what was happening to her, she could wait through a cup of tea.

Draco was amused. Granger was incredibly transparent. She had admitted to being concerned about his well-being and had, subsequently avoided his question like the plague. He watched as she set about preparing the kettle. She was still wearing the torn gray gown. Her hair was an absolute bird’s nest of tangles, one side dented from sleep. He chuckled quietly to himself. She looked ridiculous. Although, he thought to himself, he probably didn’t look so put together himself. He looked down and grimaced. Blood was crusted on his robes. He wondered if this place had a decent washroom. He heard Granger give a small gasp and when he looked up, he saw why. She had performed that odd brand of elemental wandless magic again, but this time, it appeared she had finally noticed.

_Took her long enough, he thought with a mental sniff._

* * *

Granger’s face was disturbingly pale once Draco finished recounting the events from Imbolc. She sat there gripping the teacup, its contents untouched. She stared stone-faced at the table, silent. Draco sat back and reached into his pocket, removing the beaded bag. He kept his mother’s moonstone brooch tucked inside – it was none of Granger’s business anyways.

“I believe this is yours.” He remarked.

Granger’s eyes flicked to the bag and slowly she reached forward and dragged it towards her.

“So, you are saying I’m some half ancient magical goddess,” she reiterated, “And you are my c-consort?”

Draco only shrugged. He hadn’t quite come to terms with the whole consort business. He didn’t feel any particular magical connection to her. He hadn’t seen the runes that glowed on his skin since the ritual and the actual ritual itself hadn’t been completed. Granger huffed in exasperation.

“Well are you or are you not?” she scoffed.

“Snape did say ‘ _What has started cannot be undone, but it is not final_.’ So,” Draco pointed out, “Between that and the ritual being incomplete, I would assume I am not.”

“I suppose that’s true.” She acknowledged, “But I still can’t wrap my head around being some goddess. There’s nothing special about me!”

She dropped her head into her hands and growled in frustration. Begrudgingly, Draco found himself irritated at Granger’s self-depreciation. Self-sabotage was a trait he was well-acquainted with and he didn’t want her to go down that same path.

“Stop that.” he snapped, “Talking to yourself like that won’t solve anything.”

She peered up at him from beneath the curtain of curls. Draco sharply inhaled. Her eyes were ablaze with a storm of emotions. He swore he could almost see another set of eyes looking out from within Granger’s own. He quickly shook the feeling and changed the subject.

“So, what’s in that bag of yours?”, he questioned, “I doubt my mother would have risked herself for a compact and other small trinkets.”

“Oh, this bag is what kept me, Harry, and Ron alive on the run,” she explained, “It has an Undetectable Extension Charm placed on it. I kept everything in here.”

“I’m impressed Granger.” Draco mused, “I thought the Ministry controlled all items with that particular charm?”

“The Ministry is a joke,” she snapped, beginning to rummage through the bag.

“The Gryffindor Princess isn’t quite so noble then?” he teased.

Granger briefly stopped her searching to stick her tongue out at Draco. He stifled a smile with a cough. That was the second time now that Granger had surprised him. First with her concern about his well-being earlier and secondly with her possession of illegal charms. _Maybe the Gryffindors were a little more devious than he originally thought? Apparently,_ Draco thought to himself, _his long-held notions were not as stable as they once were_.

“I’ll explore the rest of the cottage while you dig around.” He remarked, “Hopefully you’ve got something useful in there.”

She merely scoffed at his words and then winced, a loud crash emanating from the bag. Draco walked away, laughing under his breath. He decided to start with the door to the left of the fireplace. The door creaked open to reveal a simple but spacious bathroom. A white porcelain sink was perched below a dusty mirror. A toilet sat off to the side. A large window illuminated the room, the walls bare. Draco was pleased to see an overlarge clawfoot tub below the window. He walked over, hoping to Salazar that the hot water worked. He was in dire need of a bath. He turned the knob marked ‘H’ and waited. Soon, steam begin to rise, and Draco let his hand linger under the heat. Yes, he decided he would take a long, hot bath that evening. He turned off the water and resumed his exploration of the house. As he passed through the main room, he noticed Granger was partially obscured by a tower of books. No surprise there, he thought. Granger would have a mountain of books hidden in that bag.

“Found the bathroom.” He called out, “Hot water works, thank Merlin.”

Granger merely hummed in response, still lost in her task. He shook his head and headed for the stairs. They were narrow and appeared to be covered in a threadbare carpet. He climbed slowly, the stairs turning sharply. Roughly ten steps up, the second level revealed a hallway flanked with empty bookcases. A seat was built below a window, covered by a thick layer of dust. He snorted. Potter would choose a safe house with bookcases and a reading nook for her. He continued past the bookcases to a single door. Draco swore upon opening the door.

_There was only one bed._

There was absolutely no way he was sleeping with Granger. He dreaded revealing that information to her. He turned around, slammed the door shut, and stomped down the stairs.

“I am going to strangle Potter.” He barked, “That idiot put us in a house with a single bed.”

Granger looked up from the large pile of items surrounding her, various items having joined the stack of books.

“We can just transfigure the couch into a bed. It’s not that big a deal.” She giggled.

Draco stopped in his tracks. He cursed himself for his outburst. He had been so concerned about potentially having to share a bed with Granger for a month that he had completely forgot there was a viable magical solution to the issue. He squinted at her in irritation. _Damned know-it-all._

“Oh!” she squeaked out, surprise evident in her tone, “There is a letter for you in here.”

Draco stepped forward, snatching the thick envelope from her, a crease appearing in his brow. He felt the air leave his lungs. He recognized the elegant, looping letters.

_Mother._

Draco tore the letter open and began furiously reading.

_Draco,_

_My most beloved son. If you are reading this letter, then it means you are safely away from this place. This structure ceased being our home long ago and I have been desperate to remove you from its grasp and expectations. I know you must have many questions and I shall attempt to provide what I can._

_First, all of it is true. That witch is an ancient goddess. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord was able to figure it out and it was too late by the time I worked it out myself. Her ancient name is Cerridwen. I put all the texts regarding her from the Malfoy library I could find in this bag. Regrettably, due to the age of Cerridwen’s legend, most of the texts are either incomplete or in an ancient language. I recommend translating these texts as quickly as possible to truly understand her full potential and how to use it your benefit._

_Another disastrous side effect of this is that you will be chosen as her consort. I doubt the Dark Lord would be able to find a more suitable wizard for that role. This means you shall be bound to the witch that acts as a vessel for the Dark Goddess. The magic that flows within Cerridwen is raw and volatile – without a secondary magical core to share that power – the Granger witch will die. Cerridwen will consume her and without a form to tether her to our own plane, the consequences are unthinkable. How this is accomplished I do not know, nor do I know the implications of a created connection between you two._

_Last and most importantly, the light and joy of my life, we shall be separated. Please do not blame yourself for this. I begged your godfather to save you. I planned this and I will gladly bear the burden of never seeing you again if it means you survive this war. Remember what I said: Protect her like you would protect me. Fate happens whether you want it or not. You are connected to her and just maybe, you can save our family and our world._

_All my love,_

_Mother_

Draco felt his world tilt. He staggered as his vision blurred, clutching the paper to his chest.

“Are you alright?” came Granger’s alarmed voice.

“Leave me alone!” Draco thundered, sprinting towards the bathroom and slammed the door so violently the house shook.

“Wait!” she yelled after him, “Malfoy!”

Draco collapsed against the paneled wood of the door, sobs tearing from his throat. He forgot to cast a _Silencio_ , but he refused to care. Let Granger hear his screams. Merlin knew, he had listened enough to hers. Knocks rang through the door and Draco denied answering them. Let her beat the door bloody.

_His mother had known, and she let him go._

Draco couldn’t land on a single emotion that described how he felt. Betrayal. Hurt. Anger. Loss. None of them fit right. Granger’s pounding had lessened to small raps. Her voice thin through the solid wood.

“Leave me the hell alone, you stupid witch!” Draco roared,

He released another cry and heavy tears rolled down his face. He clenched his hands into fists and punched the ground until his knuckles bled. He was oddly grateful that Granger had enough common sense to remain quiet. His sobs turned to quiet, ragged breaths as the last of his feelings seeped out, just as the blood from his hands trickled onto the wooden floor.

“Malfoy?” her voice filtered through the door, close enough that Draco assumed she was sitting on the floor as well, “Was it from your mother?”

_Damn that witch’s intuition._ He gave only a brief grunt in reply. Words failed him. He heard a forlorn sigh.

“I understand.” She replied softly.

Draco barked out a laugh, sharp and cruel. _Was she really trying to pander to his emotions now? If so, she was dumber than she looked._

“I know you don’t think I could, but I do.” She sighed, “I lost both of my parents…recently.”

Draco balked at her revelation. Granger had lost both her mother and father. Draco could care less if Lucius were lost to him, only his mother had mattered. He could only imagine the pain of losing both at the same time. At least the loss of his father had been gradual. His distrust in Lucius had blossomed after the Chamber of Secrets incident. Draco still had no idea how someone could justify giving a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul to an eleven-year old witch, especially with the wake of petrified bodies that had been left in her wake, and release a giant wizard-eating snake upon a school full of children. He winced at the memory.

“What-,” he croaked, “What happened to them?”

His question was met with silence. He was about to repeat the question when she spoke.

“I permanently erased myself from their lives, gave them new names, and sent them to Australia.” She continued, “That way, I knew they’d be safe from Death Eaters. They will never know they have a daughter who misses them terribly and I have to live with the guilt of knowing that I am responsible for it.”

Draco closed his eyes, immediately regretting his question. He heard a quiet whimper and cursed the twinge of empathy that burned in his chest. Wincing, he reached up and turned the doorknob. Shifting out of the way, he let the door swing open while coming face to face with Granger. Her eyes were rimmed red with unshed tears. He cleared his voice and leveled his gaze on her.

“Sounds like we are both alone.”


	11. Just A Spark

**Chapter 11 – Just A Spark**

_A/N: A quick thank you to the lovely folks that keep encouraging my journey forward in this story! Y’all make me so happy! I’ve finally got the full plotline sorted out and let’s just say I hope y’all are in it for the long haul because I’ve got a whopping 33 chapters planned out (plus an epilogue). I will continue to release a chapter every week on Wednesdays, but if I get an extra burst of writer’s energy then I’ll attempt biweekly updates (no promises though). I originally had no intention of letting it get this lengthy but hey, art brain does what art brain wants. Last, but certainly not least, LET THE SLOW BURN COMMENCE (evil laugh). - delphicpigeon_

They both fell into a quiet, but separate, routine over the following week. Neither spoke nor acknowledged the rather intense discussion that had happened the day of their arrival at the cottage. Hermione had taken to restoring the cottage to a livable condition, which turned out to be wonderfully cozy. Malfoy quickly ousted himself as useless in regards to cleaning, citing house elves as his reason. Hermione had merely scoffed at him and continued her efforts as he watched from the armchair. She repaired the furniture, cleared away the cobwebs and soot from her magical outburst, and other various tasks to make the place more habitable for a month-long stay. The stone fireplace was large and did a wonderful job of keeping the cold at bay. A quick search of the kitchen had revealed a fully stocked pantry, complete with many jars of sauces, spices, pastas, and more. She had even found a large tin labeled ‘ _Seeds_ ’ and wondered if a small garden was hidden under the thick layer of snow that blanketed the grounds. The cottage had no electricity but was well-equipped with candles, lanterns, oil lamps, and of course, magic. Despite his lack of cleaning abilities, Malfoy had proven useful in other areas. He had offered to collect firewood from the surrounding forest while also strengthening the wards around them. He had argued with her intensely regarding the wards, stating that his familiarity with the Dark Lord and the Snatchers would allow him to lay protections the Order wouldn’t necessarily think to use. Hermione had balked at his reasoning but conceded, nonetheless. The most surprising thing had been his ability to hunt. Hermione would have never guessed that Malfoy would have the knowledge and skillset to set traps, hunt game, and properly process the meat. The previous evening, she had been preparing some broth for a stew when Malfoy had shoved the door open and placed a brown hare on the table. She had stared down at the small form before lifting her gaze to his face.

“Where did you get that?” she asked, bewildered.

“Caught it in the woods.” He shrugged, as if commenting on the weather.

“I gathered that,” she snapped, “I mean, how did YOU get that?” she gestured to his chest with a wooden spoon.

“Like I said, I caught it.” He sighed, obviously irritated by her line of questioning, “Is that so hard to believe Granger?”

“You know how to hunt?” she asked, surprised, “I figured you would be too posh to get blood on your clothes or some other equally ridiculous reason like that.”

Malfoy shot her a look of contempt.

“We have hunts every season.” He explained, “Its tradition at the Manor.”

Hermione snorted.

“Merlin, you really are from another time.” She mocked, “Let me guess. You also hold masked balls full of hoop skirts and coattails, ride in horse drawn carriages, and tip your hats to each other in the streets.”

Malfoy only glared in response, which caused Hermione is burst into laughter. He waited for her laughs to die down before responding.

“Are you quite finished?” He replied nastily, “For someone constantly spouting nonsense about equality between Purebloods and Muggleborns, you sure are incredibly judgmental regarding my way of life. Or do you only find it ridiculous because you’ve never experienced it?”

Hermione’s jaw dropped and a wave of guilt washed over her. She simply blinked at Malfoy, who had crossed his arms and scowled in annoyance.

“I hope you know how to properly cook wild game.” He spat before turning around and marching angrily to the bathroom. Hermione had turned back to the simmering stew, her face burning in embarrassment. 

Malfoy had begrudgingly offered her the upstairs bedroom, muttering under his breath about ‘blasted manners’. She had thought to turn down the offer, but a frosty glare from Malfoy had silenced her. She had to admit it was nice to have a full-sized bed rather than a cramped cot or couch. The bedroom was simple and lacking in any decor. A queen-sized bed on a solid wooden frame covered with a thick, downy comforter sat center and was flanked by two simple nightstands. Two large windows on either side let in soft morning light and a large wooden armoire sat in the corner opposite the bed. She eyed the armoire with disdain. Hermione had been surprised to find two trunks of clothing in her beaded bag. Mrs. Malfoy had apparently packed clothing for both her and Malfoy. Unfortunately, the clothes were far more traditional in style and Hermione had scrunched up her nose at the sheer amount of dresses and skirts contained in the trunk addressed to her. Today’s outfit was a floor length dark blue wool dress with wide sleeves and a matching belt cinched around her waist. The wool was soft, warm, and fit perfectly. How Mrs. Malfoy had been able to tailor all the clothes to her size still baffled Hermione. It was one of the many unexpected surprises Narcissa Malfoy had apparently stowed in that bag.

But most importantly, she had stored a large collection of books as well. Malfoy had informed Hermione that his mother had discovered Hermione’s true nature prior to their escape and had quickly packed away all manners of ancient texts from the Malfoy library for them to research. Hermione had been absolutely delighted, but her excitement quickly turned to despair when she discovered that the majority of the texts were relatively incomplete and in some nearly dead language. However, she was grateful for the distraction of attempting text translations if that meant avoiding major interaction with Malfoy for the entirety of their stay.

She had been particularly delighted in the discovery of the reading nook on the second level of the cottage. It had immediately become her favorite spot. The window was large and provided enough light that she could read in comfort and the seat cushion was surprisingly plush. She was also slightly relieved that Malfoy had chosen to avoid this location and essentially contained himself to the downstairs living area. However, that evening, the weather had turned nasty and the upstairs study quickly became too cold to remain in. Large, fat droplets of rain pounded against the windows and the wind howled through the trees. No doubt a small blizzard would develop in the night. Hermione sighed, closed her book, and walked towards the staircase. She descended quietly to find Malfoy at the large kitchen table hunched over a worn looking text, the fire blazing brightly and a look of intense concentration on his face. He didn’t even look up as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Hermione took advantage of the distraction to observe Malfoy. His eyes were rapidly devouring whatever words were laid before him. She wondered what story would have him so engrossed? The firelight danced across his pale face and Hermione was taken aback by how handsome he was. His pointed features from boyhood had smoothed out and the shadows carved out high cheekbones, full lips, and gracefully arched eyebrows. She followed the edge of his jawline where a shadow of stubble had developed. This surprised Hermione as she didn’t think Malfoy was capable of growing facial hair. She was even more dismayed to find that she liked how it looked.

_Get ahold of yourself Hermione!_

She quickly flicked her eyes up to Malfoy’s face to check that he hadn’t noticed her yet. He moved to turn the page and Hermione held her breath, terrified she had been caught. Fortunately, he settled back and continued reading. She released a breath, her heart slamming across her ribcage. Her eyes slid down to the junction of his throat and chest, where his crisp white shirt was slightly unbuttoned revealing a small expanse of fair skin. A faded, purple scar peeked out from just below his collarbone.

_Goodness, his skin looked incredibly smooth and…WHY THE HELL WAS SHE OGLING DRACO SODDING MALFOY? This must be a side effect of the attempted binding, she reasoned with herself. Yes, that had to be it because the other option was absolutely ridiculous._

“Are you going to stand there all night and stare Granger?” a voice cut through her internal argument.

_Sweet Merlin! Had he known she was there the entire time?! Hermione would had given her left hand if it meant the floor would open up and swallow her._ She gave a small shriek and attempted to fly back up the stairs if only to get away from this hideously awkward situation when she tripped on the hem of her blasted dress and went crashing to the ground. Her book went skidding across the floor and pain shot up her knees as they took the brunt of the fall. Hermione was absolutely mortified. _Was it possible to die of embarrassment, she wondered hotly, because she would very much prefer being dead to this! She had just bloody fallen to the ground in front of Draco bloody Malfoy! This was not happening!_

A burst of laughter rang out, clear and warm. She groaned and cracked open her eyes to find Malfoy standing above her, amusement glittering in his silvery eyes.

“I knew I was devastatingly handsome,” he teased, laughter still falling from his lips, “But I didn’t know it would cause you to fall over in shock.”

Hermione frowned and glared up at him with all the indignation she could muster.

“You absolute narcissist.” She snapped, “I was merely trying to figure out what book could be so fascinating to you.”

“You are a terrible liar.” He mocked, “Now are you planning on staying on the floor all night? If so, I’ll be taking advantage of the bed.”

“Prat.” She ground out and slowly stood upright, wincing at the pain in her knees.

Malfoy walked over and picked up the book she had dropped, turning it over in his hands.

“Didn’t take you for a romantic.” He stated, an eyebrow curving inquisitively, “ _Pride and Prejudice_ eh?”

Hermione snatched the book from his grasp and huffed.

“I’ll have you know it’s a favorite of mine.” She paused, disbelief creeping into her voice, “You are familiar with it?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“I may be a Pureblood, but I am still familiar with all the classics. Muggles authors included.” He drawled.

“Oh.” She mumbled, dropping awkwardly onto the couch.

Malfoy seated himself across from her, his mysterious book laid on his lap. She peeked at him from under her lashes and was annoyed to find him watching her with an inquisitive look. She felt her face flush under his bold gaze, but she refused to budge from the couch. She wasn’t going to let him win that easy. Gryffindors were courageous and bold. She tucked her feet under her dress and cleared her throat.

“So, are you going to tell me what you were reading?” she urged, eager to take the focus off herself.

Malfoy chuckled lightly, the sound soft and pleasant. Hermione narrowed her amber eyes at him. Why was his laugh exceptionally charming? Nobody just naturally laughs like that.

_Damn him._

Rain continued to pound against the windows while Hermione waited for Malfoy to respond. She was grateful for the patter of the rain and crackle of the fire to stave off the growing silence between them. Malfoy flicked his eyes to hers and realizing she was refusing to move off the subject, released an exasperated sigh.

“I’m reading _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll.” He finally admitted while his eyes bored into hers, challenging and defiant.

Hermione was genuinely surprised. The Slytherin Prince, Draco Malfoy, was reading a nonsensical Muggle fairy tale. She was expecting him to say something more logical and in depth such as Dumas or Orwell if he was indeed familiar with classical Muggle authors. Alice in Wonderland with her acid tales of rabbits in waistcoats, smoking caterpillars, and the infamous Red Queen was definitely not what she expected. A small smile tugged on her lips as Malfoy released the tense posture he had been holding.

“Definitely not what I was expecting.” She admitted, “Why did you choose that particular story?”

“My mother used to read it to me when I was a child.” He sighed, a faraway look briefly crossing over his face before settling back into his usual haughty expression, “It appears it is all I have left of her and its one of very few pleasant childhood memories.”

“Ah.” Hermione replied, “ _Pride and Prejudice_ was a favorite of my mother’s as well. When things got overwhelming, I always knew I could lose myself in the chaos of the Bennett household for an hour or two.”

She gave him an awkward smile and his face softened a small degree. He looked down at the worn cover and ran a long finger down the spine in a tender gesture. His shoulders slumped a little and a small, defeated sigh left his mouth.

“Books became my escape, both in childhood and later in life.” He confessed, “I used to hide in the library at Hogwarts to escape dear Pansy’s affections. She absolutely disdains books. Crabbe and Goyle were too idiotic to comprehend books, so they stayed away as well. It was the only place I felt like I could breathe. Not even your dear Chosen One or that red-headed git would bother me there.” He finished with a smirk.

Hermione quickly brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle that threatened to fall from her lips. The comical image of Malfoy attempting to hide from Pansy Parkinson among the dusty old books of Hogwarts was hilarious, especially when she thought of Crabbe and Goyle bumbling around outside like Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

“What’s so funny Granger?” Malfoy demanded.

Another giggle bubbled up and Malfoy’s frown deepened.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” She countered, “It’s just the thought of you ducking behind a pile of books to avoid Parkinson and since you mentioned Lewis Carroll, I was picturing Crabbe and Goyle dressed as the Tweedle twins and wandering around unable to find the entrance to the library.”

Malfoy gave her an odd look and she felt her amusement diminish. She quickly turned her attention to the fire, wondering if she had crossed some line by making fun of his fellow Slytherins. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Malfoy released a deep and loud guffaw. She whipped her head in his direction, utterly mystified. His mouth was open wide in a toothy grin and a slight flush was creeping across his pale cheeks. Hermione sat still in shock, watching Malfoy’s body shake with laughs. Yet, it wasn’t his laugh that had completely captured her attention. It dawned on Hermione that she had never heard Malfoy truly laugh or genuinely – entirely lacking in scorn or malice. His smile was radiant, full of perfect teeth that would have made her parents swoon in dental envy. Without his signature scowl, Malfoy was transformed. His steel gray eyes shone like quicksilver, his lips curved in an inviting manner, and his face took on an almost mischievous, boyish look. She inhaled sharply as Malfoy’s laughs softened.

“Bloody hell Granger.” He wheezed out with a final snort of amusement, “I knew you were clever, but that was downright ruthless. Did you know that those two goons constantly forgot where the entrance to the Slytherin common room was and would wander for hours right in front of it until someone fetched them?”

“I-I did not.” she stammered out, stunned at this carefree version of Malfoy.

Hermione continued to stare Malfoy down, wearing a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. Malfoy cocked his head to the side, his smile falling slightly. Hermione felt her breath catch as their eyes connected. Something dark flashed across his eyes but it was immediately extinguished. She felt exposed and began to squirm. Her movements broke the moment and Malfoy tore his gaze from hers. He coughed and reclined back, apparently determining it was an egregious error to be so casual with her.

“Well yes…” He sniffed, a ripple of sadness just under his skin, “That was a long time ago.”

Hermione frowned. He had been so vibrant just a moment ago and her reaction had snuffed it out. She found herself wanting to see that side of him again. Thinking quickly, she turned the conversation back to their books.

“Tell me your favorite part.” She commanded.

Malfoy twitched and slowly met her eyes again, a flicker of hope sparking in his eyes.

“Of my book?” he asked, a cautious tone laced with his question.

“Yes, apparently I have a morbid curiosity of whether we share a favorite section of this story,” she smirked in response, “And even if it’s not, I’d still like to discuss it with you. There hasn’t been much opportunity for me to discuss literary works with anyone, especially Muggle pieces.”

She folded her hands in her laps expectantly, hoping Malfoy would take the bait. With a carefully blank expression, he rose from the armchair and silently padded towards the kitchen. Hermione deflated at his complete rejection of her attempt at conversation. She dropped her head and her shoulders slumped forward, defeated.

_Well, at least she had tried._

“Calm down Granger.” He called from the kitchen, “I’m fixing us a quick pot of tea. Because…”

He walked back to where Hermione was seated and set down a tray containing two cups and a pot of steaming tea. He threw another log on the fire and sat back down opposite her.

“I have a feeling we’ll both have many things to say.”


	12. Dreadful News

**Chapter 12 – Dreadful News**

_A/N: I’d like to apologize on any previous and future chapters for any grammatical errors or continuity issues. I have no Alpha/Beta and revising as best as I can, so please forgive me. Several things happen at once in this chapter, so you better buckle up. I promise it will be worth it._ 😊

_Song Recs: I’ll Be Good – Jaymes Young, Hit Me Right – Johnny Goth, and Lacrimosa – Mozart (the Hauser version) If you can listen in order, it works surprisingly well._

* * *

_(2 weeks later –1 week before the Order Retrieval)_

The two continued their shaky routine of translating and deciphering dusty tomes, in-depth discussions and arguments over prominent Muggle authors along with their illustrious merits (or spectacular failures), and companiable silence. Draco had been surprised at Granger’s knowledge of Wizarding authors considering her late start in the Wizarding world. He was particularly impressed at her nearly photographic memory of Ancient Runes. That particular fact had been immensely helpful in their quest for information on Cerridwen lore. Both shared a passion for learning and he had secretly delighted in the way her eyes had lit up when he began describing the massive Malfoy library and he had been highly amused when she admitted that she had compared herself to Matilda, the precocious magical character written by Roald Dahl, when she had experienced bursts of accidental magic as a child. She may have been a swotty know-it-all, but he was actually beginning to look forward to mentally sparring with her. Blaise and Theo had been the closest to him in class marks, but they lacked the passion that Granger had in spades for any subject. Her thirst for knowledge and pure ambition prompted him to wonder why the Sorting Hat had placed her in Gryffindor – she would have excelled in Ravenclaw or even Slytherin if you could overlook the whole blood purity mindset.

However, this secret thrill was severely tempered by the knowledge that it would all end. Soon, the Order would appear and snatch Granger away while they threw him in the darkest corner of Azkaban to rot for the remainder of his miserable existence. He decided to make these next couple weeks as tolerable as possible before his freedom was lost forever. Every night, Draco laid awake on the transfigured bed next to the glow of the fire and attempted to soak up every sensation. From the warmth of the hearth, the soft smell of freshly fallen snow, the contentment of a full belly of warm food, and even…the talks with Granger. He sighed, irritated. _What a situation he was in that he should bemoan the loss of that bushy-haired witch’s company?_

* * *

_(The night before the Order Retrieval)_

So far, they had only managed to breakdown a single page, which had contained nothing of use beyond acknowledgement of Cerridwen’s power and status as an Otherworld (Or Underworld depending on the time period) goddess. Hermione had secretly tried engaging with the hidden entity contained within her body, but she was always met with silence. She hadn’t heard Cerridwen’s murky voice since they had arrived at the cottage. On the other hand, there were decided perks. Hermione, ever the logical witch, had been immensely pleased to discover her ability to cast magic without a wand. This was helpful as her wand had been confiscated during her initial capture in the woods. She also noticed that the magnitude of her magic had been amplified, the inherent magic contained within the earth flowed in and out of her. It usually left her exhausted at the end of the day, the constant flow of magic, but she supposed this was a side effect of containing a magical being. Hopefully, further translation would provide better answers.

Speaking of translations, Hermione had begun to look forward to her quiet evenings with Malfoy, despite his ever-increasing moodiness. They usually stayed up late into the nights discussing all ranges of topics. She had regaled him with her adventures with Harry and Ron, from how they met that Halloween evening in the girls’ bathroom to teaching Harry the charm he used to summon his broom during the Triwizard Tournament. He had sat quietly, nodding occasionally and something akin to jealousy mixed with disbelief written in his eyes.

“So, you are telling me that the Ministry of Magic allowed a Third Year to use a Time-Turner?” he scoffed, “I find that exceedingly difficult to believe.”

“That year nearly killed me. Not to mention my encounter with a werewolf, dementors, and that traitorous Peter Pettigrew!” she exclaimed, “I almost regret taking that much schoolwork on.”

His silver eyes were comically large at her casual tone. She stifled a laugh. He sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Wait,” he spoke, holding up a hand, “All of that and the thing you regret the most is…the course load!?”

She merely nodded.

“Bloody hell Granger.” He declared, “You are mad.”

In turn, she smirked at him.

“Third year wasn’t a complete loss.” She defended, an evil grin spreading across her face, “I slapped this pretentious git for his cruel comments regarding a certain magical creature, who I am pleased to announce, is still quite alive.”

Malfoy let out an embarrassed groan.

“You are enjoying this aren’t you?” he snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

“Immensely.” She countered.

“I’ll acknowledge that I was an absolute pain in the arse during Third Year, and I do regret the whole Buckbeak business.” He explained, his face darkening while his jaw began to clench, “Actually, from Third Year on, I pretty much regret every decision I made.”

Hermione blinked. Curious, she pushed the conversation forward.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better…I don’t regret being stuck here.” She said softly, “I’ve actually begun to appreciate our discussions.”

Malfoy shot her look, clearly indicating he did not believe her, that quickly dissolved into an angry scowl.

“Potter and Weaselbee won’t like that.” he sneered, “They’ll think I’ve _Imperio_ ’d you.”

“Well, I don’t.” she snapped, “Or at least I don’t when you aren’t being a dismissive little ferret.”

With a toss of her curls, she gathered her book, and stomped out of the living room and up the stairs.

* * *

_(Morning of the Order Retrieval)_

To say that Draco was on edge was an understatement. He had paced the cottage several times, drank several cups of tea, and was attempting to read the book before him. After glossing over the same paragraph, he snapped the book shut with a sharp slap. He growled, wishing the Order had thought to stash at least a flask of Firewhiskey or Ogden’s Own in this blasted cabin, but his efforts to locate such a bottle had ended fruitlessly. The delicate understanding between him and Granger had started crumbling after he mocked her for admitting that she enjoyed his company. He had immediately regretted the words but knowing that he probably wouldn’t even be speaking to her in less than two weeks’ time had dissuaded him against pursuing her. Better to let this ‘truce’ fade away and let him get back to his usual self-loathing thoughts. After all, they were going to be his company, along with Dementors, for the foreseeable future. Granger’s shuffling around the previous evening while muttering a list of items to pack had grated on his nerves more that he cared to admit. Although, he wasn’t sure why he had expected her to be anything other than industrious and thorough while carefully packing all their belongings into that damned beaded bag.

_Their belongings? Since when did he start considering it as ‘their’ rather than ‘his’?_

Draco huffed. He chastised himself for being so concerned. He had basically told Granger to take everything anyways. Azkaban didn’t allow personal belongings. A couple nights ago, he had hidden his mother’s moonstone brooch in an unassuming box, sealed it, and asked Granger to hold the box for safekeeping – refusing to reveal the contents. Thankfully, she merely nodded and tucked the box away without a word. He had also told her to keep the books and clothing his mother had provided. She had rolled her eyes at the clothing but had gasped when he mentioned the books.

“Are you sure?” she breathed, her amber eyes large, “These books are incredibly valuable and rare.”

Draco had shrugged, the value of those books did not affect his future. At least, with Granger, they might make a difference.

“Thank you.” She whispered, carefully slipping the many volumes into the depths of the bag.

As if he needed more internal battles, he was also struggling with how to tell Granger the warning his mother had offered in her last letter.

_How does one tell a potentially violent goddess-vessel witch capable of extraordinary wandless magic that she’ll basically combust because of the amount of power flowing through her and that he, a traitor ex-Death Eater with some moral hangups, is her only chance of surviving? A chance that will be inaccessible in a couple hours? Isn’t she the lucky one?_

He flopped back down on the armchair, running a hand up the smooth curve of wood. Despite its old-fashioned appearance, Draco had truly enjoyed the many nights spent in that chair. It was well-built, surprisingly comfortable, and held some late-night memories of literary debates with Granger. _Merlin_ , he thought sarcastically, _those damn Gryffindors are contagious – I’m pining over a bloody chair._

* * *

Hermione had gone over the packing list three times, double-checked the placement of the contents of her bag, and tidied up the cottage to keep her nerves from fraying right there on the spot. Soon, the Order would be arriving to reunite her with Harry and Ron. She was too nervous to settle down and work on translations, so she chose to prep some food while they waited. She didn’t need to be to be a seer to see that Malfoy was not handling this upcoming rendezvous well. Actually, he hadn’t been handling the past two weeks well whatsoever. Hermione felt like she was back in the Forest of Dean stuck with grumpy and irritable company. She could sympathize though. Just as she was concerned about how the Order would her goddess revelation, she could only imagine what would happen to Malfoy once the Order got ahold of him. She assumed a one-way ticket to Azkaban. However, she didn’t believe he deserved that fate. He had protected her and had been mostly civil the entire time they had been stuck together. Maybe, she thought, she could convince Harry to speak for him. She sighed as she watched him pace the length of the cottage before dramatically dropping into his armchair. She frowned when he tenderly ran a hand on the familiar piece of furniture, a forlorn and poignant expression written plain on his face. Her heart ached for him.

“Malfoy,” she called out softly, “Would you like some food for the road?”

Instantly, the expression vanished, and he leveled her with a frosty glare.

“Trying to fatten up this lamb for slaughter?” he sneered.

“How c-could you think that?” Hermione stammered out, “I just thought…”

Malfoy rose from the chair and stalked towards her, his posture threatening. Hermione went rigid and felt the stirrings of deep magic from that shadowy dwelling place.

 _Circe,_ she thought, _Now, Cerridwen decides to show up._

He continued moving closer, circling around the kitchen table, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“You think just because we’ve talked about some books and shared some tea,” he hissed, “That we are friends and that your precious Order won’t destroy me on the spot?”

Hermione merely stared, unable to comprehend the unexpected venom dripping from his voice. Her hands began to shake as she fought the rising tide of magic. Fearfully, she noticed the temperature in the room begin to drop.

“What a joke.” He spat, “I should have left the moment I was dropped in this hovel with _YOU_.”

Something inside Hermione cracked with that last word. He had uttered it with such revulsion, shame, and menace. She lost control and that ancient goddess bubbled to the surface.

* * *

Draco knew he had gone too far as soon as he uttered that final word. He felt that bone-chilling cold from the first night they were here surround him. Gone were her honey colored eyes, replaced with that all too familiar burning black. Draco stilled his forward movement, watching her. Slowly, a malicious grin split across her face – stretching her lips into thin lines with her teeth on full display. A darkness spread from her in wispy tendrils as her hair softly lifted, floating like a halo. She floated forward.

“ _You_ …” echoed a voice, “ _Dare speak to me so_?”

Draco was horrified as the words rippled through the air, her lips unmoving. He stood frozen in place, remembering the terror he had felt at witnessing her initial transformation. _How could he have been so careless!?_

“ _Foolish_ _boy_.” she purred.

Draco could barely blink before she closed the gap between them, her face inches from his. She was sublime, full of terrible and haunting splendor. Despite her malevolent smile, she took his breath away. His eyes connected with hers, those murky depths hiding lifetimes of secrets. Her hand shot out, cruelly grasping his face between her slender fingers. She leaned forward, inhaling slowly.

“ _It’s time you learned your place.”_

A surge of magic shot through Draco and he saw stars.

* * *

She stood in the marshy edge of a lake, her chestnut curls whipping wildly in the wind. The steely blue water stirred into a grayish-brown frenzy. The waves lapped at the rocky shoreline and clouds gathered in the distance. She turned and held out an inviting hand, beckoning him to step forward. Diaphanous clothing clung to her body, outlining the delicious curves that graced her form. She called to him over the thunderous crack of the sky. Draco raced to her, splashing through the turbulent water. He gathered her in his arms as she raised her face, lips ghosting by his ears.

“ _Llyn Tegid,_ ” she breathed, “ _This is our home, my Lord. See the many lifetimes we have endured? This is but another turn of the wheel. Know your place and stand by my side. Together, our magic and bond shall prevail_.”

Draco panted as he was thrown through all of space and time, reliving the many lifetimes of Cerridwen and her husband, whose name was revealed as Tegid Foel. He saw himself through his eyes. Heard her whisper his name across the eons. The greatest mythological love stories in all of known history and those yet to be. Ulysses and Circe. Nyx and Erebus. Rama and Sita. Freyja and Odr. He had experienced them all with her. The empires had sung tales of their passions, their squabbles, and their gifts. She continued to hold him, watching the worlds pass them by. Just when Draco thought he would suffocate from the weight of it all, he was abruptly brought back to the tempestuous lake shore. She released him and began moving backwards, drifting into the depths. He reached for her, fingers stretching.

“ _Is it true?_ ” he asked, “ _Is what I feel real?_ ”

She inclined her head slightly, the water creeping up her body. She continued sinking until only her eyes remained above the water. The water pooling around her dark features, eyes glowing in the storm.

“ _She is your equal in every way_.” The watery voice murmured, rolling across the lake’s glassy surface, “ _Give yourself to her freely, my prince_.”

Draco stood forlorn, the swells crashing higher and lapping at his feet. He could not let her escape. She kept slipping from his grasp, plummeting further and further into the waves. She gave him one, last expectant look before disappearing under the waves. Her voice resonated in the air, filling his body with an unknown melody.

“ _My beloved, set us free.”_

* * *

Hermione gasped as she was ripped back to the present. A pair of steel gray eyes captured her own, sending out waves of delight and pain where her fingers dug into his sharp jawline. His skin glowed with symbols. Symbols that looked eerily similar to the one she held. Her breath came out ragged and hot as she realized this was the first time she had touched his skin. The feel of it in her hand shot straight to her center. She licked her lips, dragging the tip of her tongue across their cracked surface, watching as Malfoy’s eyes darkened at the movement. Unbidden, the pad of her thumb ghosted against the curve of his lower lip. A soft sigh escaping her mouth. Abruptly, Malfoy tore his face from her grip, breathing heavily.

“You are back.” He simply stated, a cough rumbling deep from his chest.

She dropped her arm, feeling the tide of magic subside inside her. Snow littered the inside of the cottage, the barest scent of storm lingering in the air.

“M-Malfoy…” she stumbled out.

“Don’t.” he hissed, “I just witnessed lifetimes of her, of them, of…” he trailed off, before flicking his eyes to her.

“Us.” Her voice barely above a whisper.

She moved towards him when a loud shriek pierced the silence. Malfoy whipped out his wand and rushed forward, angling his body to partially cover hers. She quickly concentrated the magic from around them and held it in her hands, waiting for the intruder to show themselves. A drab, brown owl came hurtling through the window, shattering glass everywhere. Hermione gave a small cry and rushed forward to the injured animal. A small piece of parchment, spotted in blood, was tied to its leg.

“Help it!” she cried, gently stroking the owl’s feathers as its hoots died away.

Malfoy kneeled down, examining the creature. He shook his head.

“Its injuries were too much.” He spoke gently, “This owl used the last of its energy to get here.”

“Poor thing.” She sighed, “Who would do such a thing?”

“What does the message say Granger?” he growled, eyes darting around rapidly.

She sniffed, gently untied the paper from the owl’s form, and unfurled the paper. Written haphazardly and splattered with ink marks were words that sucked the air from Hermione’s lungs and threatened to send her into a spiral of darkness:

_We were betrayed. Mundungus. Many died. The Order has gone underground._

_It’s safer for you to stay where you are. Forgive me, I don’t know when we’ll see each other again._

“Well?” Malfoy barked, exasperation creeping into his voice.

The note slipped through her fingers and fluttered to the ground, her voice completely lost. Malfoy snatched the parchment up and with that, the color drained from his face.

“What do we do now?” his breath ragged, a dangerous edge of fury barely concealed.

Her lips began to tremble as she struggled for air.

“I don’t know.”


	13. Exile

**Chapter 13 – Exile**

_A/N: This chapter will be intense and contains themes of self-harm/suicidal tendencies. This chapter was particularly difficult to write. I went through the most ridiculous emotional roller coaster trying to capture the range of reactions between these two characters. With that being said, I hope you are enjoying the storyline development and thank you for sticking with me this far. – delphicpigeon_

_Song Recs: Devil’s Backbone – The Civil Wars, No Saving Me – Philmon Lee (feat. Lindsey Stirling), and I gotta throw in some good ol’ angsty music from the early 2000’s: Behind Blue Eyes – Limp Bizkit (Honestly, just put this song on repeat for the entire chapter – that’s what I did writing it haha)._

* * *

Draco’s mind reeled. Everything had unraveled with that tiny slip of paper clenched in his fist. The Order had fallen. He couldn’t believe the words. He refused to. Because if he acknowledged the truth in their meaning, then all was gone. The Dark Lord would continue his reign of terror upon the wizarding world, torturing and murdering countless wizards and muggles alike. Draco bolted to the toilet before violently emptying the contents of his stomach. Flushing the mess away, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and brushed the sweaty hair from his eyes. Leaving the bathroom, his eyes fell upon Granger’s form. She was sprawled on the floor on her back, eyes staring blankly into the ceiling. If it weren’t for the rapid rise and fall of her chest, he’d think her dead. He stomped over and bent over her while a sneer distorted his face.

“This is all your fault.” he seethed, “Your precious Order and their bloody dimwit of a leader have failed. It won’t be long before the Dark Lord finds them and mercilessly flays the skin from Potter’s body. He’ll exterminate the Weasel clan one by one, saving the Weaselette for last. I’m sure you can guess what her fate will be.”

She continued staring, unblinking and unresponsive to Draco’s venomous words.

“Now the Gryffindor Princess _nee Goddess_ is a useless simpleton,” he mocked, “Stay on the floor for all I care. Useless witch!”

He whipped around and sprinted up the stairs, slamming the upstairs bedroom door with a resounding _CRACK_! He threw himself on the bed, his mind whirling.

_This was it. Everything that had been sacrificed was lost forever. His godfather. His mother. Even the small semblance of peace he had experienced this past month. It was over._

An overwhelming wave of despair rose up in Draco. It constricted his airway, causing him to gasp out raggedly. He clenched his teeth and dropped his head to his hands in defeat. Draco sat trembling, tears refusing to fall, until darkness fell.

All of it be damned. He wasn’t going wait for the Dark Lord to find him. He’d make sure that his body was cold and six feet under before he’d ever let that madman near him again.

* * *

Hermione laid on the floor, unmoving. She did not even flinch when the floor above her rattled, sending showers of dust sprinkling to the floor. She was still trying to process what had just happened, but she could not get her mind to move from that one word: _betrayed_. The Order had been betrayed. Many had died.

_How many times must betrayal snatch happiness from their lives?_

A diminutive corner of her mind was selfishly relieved that Harry had managed to survive, but who were the many that had perished? Was Ron alive? Or Luna? Were her parents safe? How many members had been sacrificed and what did that mean for the war efforts? Too many questions swirled through her mind and she felt sick from the effort of it. Slowly, her eyes fluttered shut, strained from the lack of focus. A headache was pounding at the back of her skull and her legs were tingling from the uncomfortable angle she had taken on the floor. She didn’t care though. She had no energy to leave that place on the floor. The light disappeared from the sky as she lay shivering, refusing to light a fire and fell into an exhausted, yet fitful sleep.

She awoke as the soft light of dawn began filtering into the cottage. She winced as she lifted her head, muscles stiff and sore from a night spent tossing and turning on the cold floor. Pulling herself up into a sitting position, she rubbed at her arm absentmindedly. A quick glance revealed Malfoy was not around and she shuddered recalling his explosive response to the news. Unfortunately, she couldn’t blame him, and she was sure she would have reacted the exact same way if she had been in his place. She continued sitting on the floor, not sure what to do next. Questions continued floating in her head and she began to feel the dull throb of a headache re-awakening in her temples. Rubbing her face and deciding that a cup of tea might soothe her racing thoughts, she grunted as she stood awkwardly. With a quick flick of her finger, flames roared to life in the hearth and she shuffled to the kitchen to grab the kettle. She spent the remainder of the day downing cup after cup of tea, refusing to leave the nest of blankets she had dragged in front of the glowing embers and crying until she had no breath left.

The following morning, Hermione dragged herself off the floor and placed the dirty dishes in the sink. Her face pulsed in pain, obviously still swollen from her fallen tears. She refused to magic away the traces of her misery, instead choosing to display her salt-covered cheeks. She hadn’t heard Malfoy nor seen him since the news had broken. She doubted he had taken it well. She was still struggling with it herself. A month stuck with Malfoy had been manageable. Rough at first, but manageable. Now, they were stuck together indefinitely. Not to mention she had transformed once again and apparently, Cerridwen had shown Malfoy something terrifying. He had barely been able to speak to her afterwards. She swallowed thickly, recalling the thrill of touching his skin. She could not recall a moment in which their skin had made contact, excluding that brief moment in Third Year. But that had been prior to the whole ‘being a goddess vessel’ business. His skin had lit up beautifully, covered in delicate runes. She had felt nearly possessive upon seeing those marks upon his body. Instinctively, she knew those symbols were hers. He belonged to her. She wanted to taste those symbols etched on his skin.

_Were they as sweet as they looked?_

Hermione gagged. _What in Merlin’s name was wrong with her!?_

* * *

Days passed with no sign of Malfoy. With the exception of occasional shuffling coming from above, Hermione would have not known if he was alive or not. Each day, she fixed breakfast and dinner for him. The guilt she felt for him was immense. In a way, her friends had let them down. They always knew Mundungus was a liability, but the Order was desperate and that always lead to recklessness. Each day, she returned to the tray left untouched by Malfoy. She was concerned that he was not eating. Swallowing, she decided if he hadn’t eaten by the morning, she would knock the door down and force food down his pale throat.

The next morning, as she laid half-asleep on the couch, Hermione thought she heard a hushed murmur above her. Her brow creased at the gentlest of strokes across her cheekbones. Her mind quickly forgetting the experience in its drowsy haze allowed her to drift off once again.

* * *

He had quietly crept down the stairs, his bare feet careful to not create any disturbing sounds. Briefly, he stopped to gaze at the witch below him. She was stretched out on the couch, her arm thrown haphazardly above her. Her hair was wild as ever, a curl draped across her cheek. Shaking slightly, he reached out his hand and lightly brushed the errant strand from her face. Her breath came out in deep, even sighs. A frown graced his lips as her face furrowed at his touch. He slowly withdrew his hand and observed her once more.

“Forgive me for this,” he whispered and soundlessly fled from the room, into the freezing arms of the forest.

* * *

Shivering, Hermione opened her eyes to a cold fireplace and midday sun. Realizing she was alone, once again, she heaved herself up and went to fetch the tray she had left for Malfoy this morning. Climbing the stairs, hoping he might answer her knocks this morning, she nearly missed the condition of his breakfast tray. She cocked her head when she noticed the tray was askew. Bending to inspect, she noticed the food remained untouched, but the tray had been moved from where she originally placed it. She turned to glance at the bedroom door and was confused when she realized the door was slightly cracked. Gingerly, she stepped forward and tapped the door open.

“Malfoy?’ she called out, afraid of what she might find.

As she peered inside, she was disappointed to find no immediate signs of the wizard. Taking a cautious step forward, she craned her neck around to observe the entirety of the room. Looking left and right, she frowned. Malfoy wasn’t there. Looking down, she noticed his black loafers sitting by the corner of the bed. Lifting her gaze, she observed his thick cloak thrown carelessly on the bed. Her eyes widened in fear.

_NO_.

She raced down the stairs and out the door, screaming out Malfoy’s name. She ran down the path she had seen him take so many times before, her cloak billowing behind her.

“MALFOY!” she shrieked, eyes searching wildly for any sight of the blonde-haired Slytherin.

“Where are you?” she cried out, her throat burning from the wintery air surrounding her.

Her breath hitched when a splash of vibrant red captured in her eyes. She choked, hoping that what she was seeing was a mistake. She lurched forward, following the trail of crimson droplets against the blinding snow. She rounded a gnarled tree and released a strangled scream upon recognizing his still form, laying broken against the frozen ground. She rushed to his side, dragging his body towards her, and cradled his head in her lap. Cuts crisscrossed his pale arm and she retched, seeing the skin flayed so deeply that bone was visible. Blood was weeping from the wound and pooling on the ground around them. She gasped, realizing it was the Dark Mark that had been cut from his arm. His eyes were shut, and his features were bluish-white. She frantically felt for a pulse, fervently whispering healing spells. She clamped her hand on his arm, attempting to stem the flow.

“Malfoy,” she pleaded, using her other hand to tenderly brush his hair from his face, “Please be ok.”

He gave no reaction to her words or to the spells. Taking a deep breath, she focused on calling forth Cerridwen.

“Help him please,” she begged, “I-I can’t…Please don’t make me…” she trailed off.

Hermione felt a hum of magic fill her mind.

_My child._

The voice filled her body and wrapped her in it embrace. Hermione exhaled at its familiar touch.

“Please save him.” Hermione implored, drawing Malfoy’s limp form closer, “I can’t l-lose…him.”

_Be warned. With this act, you shall be further bound to him. Your lives and magic are intertwined. Do you accept these conditions?_

“Tell me what to do.” Hermione commanded, her face set in a determined grimace as his blood seeped from between her fingers.

_The cold has brought darkness. Breath into him the fire of life. Place your lips upon his and exhale our magic._

Normally, Hermione would have stomped, screamed, and shouted at the thought of placing her lips upon the boy who had taunted and bullied her mercilessly for her blood status and stood by as his aunt tortured her. However, that felt like eons ago. All she could think of was bringing him back to her. Somewhere, in her mind, she knew she would not survive without him. In an ancient tongue, Cerridwen urged her forward. Hermione felt her magic flare, shimmering like a golden mist. She felt Cerridwen rise to the surface, as if ascending from some liquid depth. She whispered in Hermione ear, pouring that fire into her. She tilted Malfoy’s face to her and lowered her lips to his as the woods around them began to fill with a glowing haze. Hermione’s eyes squeezed shut as she was overwhelmed with Cerridwen’s fiery magic. She gasped at the searing contact of their lips. She grasped his face to her, pouring her magic into the blinding kiss. Together, their runes shone, and a shimmering light leaked from the gaping wound in Malfoy’s arm. She felt a tendril of his magic reach out weakly. Like quicksilver, his fluid magic began flowing through the gilded vapor of hers. She hissed against his mouth at the magical contact. Her hand snaked up and roughly tangled fingers into his disheveled hair, losing herself in magic coursing between them. Hermione felt Cerridwen purr in approval.

_He shall live._

Hermione threw her head back as their magic continued coiling together, breaking the bruising kiss. She gasped for breath, her body shaking against the feel of both Malfoy and Cerridwen’s magics filling her body. It danced with her own magic, stuttered moans seeping out from her lips. Feeling Cerridwen sink below once again, Hermione’s eyes dropped towards Malfoy’s body and her eyes widened at the change. His sunken features had disappeared, and the weeping wound had been healed. Several nasty scars had taken its place, but most amazingly, the Dark Mark was gone. In its place, was an exact copy of her own mark. Cerridwen had warned this would further bind them together and she had made sure Hermione knew that by leaving the shimmering symbol. With a stuttered breath, she lifted trembling fingers to his neck hoping fervently she’d locate a pulse. She broke out in a relieved cry when she felt the smallest flicker of a heartbeat. His body shifted slightly and she gripped harder, frightened of letting him go. His eyelids fluttered with a sharp intake of breath, his chest rising. She removed her hand from his neck and placed it softly on his cheek.

“Come back to me.” She whispered, waiting what felt like an eternity.

“Hermione.” Came a quiet sigh.


	14. Expanded Horizons

**Chapter 14 – Expanded Horizons**

_A/N: On the song recommendations, these are songs that spur my writing process and are not necessarily fully compatible with what the chapter contains (AKA they set the mood for me when I write). Thank you for all the reads, reviews, follows, and favorites! Wednesdays are quickly becoming my favorite day, next to Sundays (my dedicated writing day). Song Recs: Falling – Harry Styles and In Between Breaths - SYML_

* * *

“Thank Merlin!” Hermione cried, relief flooding throughout her as his voice breathed out her name.

Tears begin falling as she struggled with the wave of emotions threatening to drown her. The flutter of her heart at hearing him speak her name. Immense relief in knowing he was still alive. Sheer terror at knowing they were even more bound than before. Confusion at her growing concerns for his well-being. She shook her head and sniffed, trying to stem the flow of tears.

“W-what is going on?” he whispered, bringing her back to reality.

“I found you out here…b-bleeding and nearly dead.” She breathed out, stuttering as she recalled finding him, “I-I, uh, Cerridwen helped me revive you.”

Hermione determined it wasn’t the best moment to tell him she had inadvertently put some of her magic into him. Through a kiss, no less. She felt it was safe to assume that he would prefer being dead than accept that she had kissed him. Well, technically, Cerridwen had kissed him. But that was neither here nor there. She shivered, dreading when she’d have to reveal that bit of news to him. Besides, it sounded like he didn’t remember the exchange. Better to let it be for now.

He peered up at her, his eyes darkening as he processed her words.

“You should have just left me alone.” He gritted out, letting out a dejected sigh and slumped further in her lap, “I came out here so the Dark Lord would never be able to use me again. With the Order gone, he’ll rise again and somehow find me through that cursed mark.”

Hermione blinked, surprised. He did not realize his Dark Mark was gone. Her eyes briefly traveled to his scarred arm. Alarmed, she noticed Cerridwen’s symbol was no longer visible as well. She grimaced, another secret she’d have to divulge one day.

“Malfoy,” she urged as her eyes returned to his, “He won’t be able to find you that way anymore.”

“I didn’t think you could be so thick-headed Granger.” He snorted, derision coating his voice.

“I’m completely serious Malfoy,” she snapped, resisting the urge to shove him off her lap, “Look.”

“Why would I look Granger?” he growled, refusing to turn his head, “If I’m not dead, it’s still there.”

“Stubborn prick. Just look!” She demanded, exasperation creeping into her tone.

He only glared in response, his eyes boring into hers. She groaned at him in irritation, grabbed his arm, and yanked it up to his face.

“Look, you idiot.” She hissed.

He jerked up from her lap, grasping his arm tightly. Hermione felt strangely forlorn at the loss.

“H-how?” he stuttered, his fingers ghosting over the scars and crusted blood. “The Dark Mark is meant to permanent. Removal of it means death since it is entwined with our magic. This is not possible.”

Hermione bristled at his disbelief, obviously it was very possible or else he wouldn’t be sans Dark Mark and still breathing.

“Cerridwen is an ancient magical goddess.” She pointed out, “I think it’s safe to say she is more powerful than some dark lord. Besides, we only have the slightest notion of what she can do.”

Malfoy gave no response and merely continued inspecting his arm in awe. She stood slowly, her body stiff from the cold. She recoiled at the bloody scene surrounding them. Muttering a cleansing spell under her breath, the woods returned to their normal scenery. She looked down at Malfoy, who still sat upon the ground.

“Come on Malfoy,” She motioned, “You’ve lost a lot of blood and I know you haven’t been eating. Let’s get you back to the cottage so you can rest.”

* * *

Malfoy turned out to be the worst patient ever. He did not take well to Hermione’s efforts to heal him. He fought her at every turn, complaining loudly at her insistence of his confinement to bed. He healed slowly. Hermione suspected this was due to his magic being severed from Voldemort’s dark magic then filtered through both her and Cerridwen’s magic. Not to mention his body was just weak from his self-imposed starvation. She was emotionally frazzled at the end of each day, tired of his constant mood swings and complaints about her quality of care. Hermione had been eternally grateful to Narcissa Malfoy’s foresight to include healing textbooks in their stash of books. She had poured over the texts, attempting to absorb knowledge of restorative spells and medicinal herbs uses. This also allowed her to escape the surliness of the Malfoy scion.

She tried to understand that he must be struggling emotionally to come to terms with a botched suicide attempt resulting in the disappearance of something he considered eternal. Hermione was no shrink, but she knew that sort of experience would be traumatizing for most. Each night after he fell asleep, she would creep in and sit by his side, switching between observing his condition for any changes and reading various texts. She would sneak out each morning before he woke, confident he wouldn’t appreciate her bedside visitations.

* * *

Draco awakened to the sounds of birds chirping loudly. He groaned, his body still sore and exhausted from his foolish attempt a few days prior. Every morning he dreaded opening his eyes, terrified that the Dark Mark had returned. With a deep breath, he forced his eyes open and inspected his arm. Finding the skin unmarked once again, he let out a small sigh of relief. However, he was surprised to find Granger curled awkwardly in a chair next to the bed. Her face was partially obscured by her messy curls and a book was open haphazardly in her lap. Draco scowled at her sleeping form. She wasn’t his keeper, and he didn’t understand why she was being so caring towards him. He wasn’t some useless Gryffindor in the hospital wing and he certainly didn’t need her hovering around him. He grunted as he sat upright and watched for any signs of her stirring. Looking over at the nightstand, he observed a glass of water and a plate of buttered toast. It was still warm. She must have cast a warming charm on the food. He huffed in irritation, the plate reminding him of all the meals she had left in the days leading up to the incident. Gingerly, he reached for the water and took a small sip. Holding the glass, Draco watched Granger shift in her sleep. Noticing the book in her lap slipping, he gently removed it and placed it on the bed. The hair had fallen from her face, leaving it open to his gaze. Quietly, he watched her. He was surprised to notice small freckles smattered lightly across her nose. Her features were relaxed and her long lashes rested delicately on her cheeks. His eyes traveled to her mouth. Something about them felt familiar but he couldn’t explain why, but it was only a shadow of a feeling. Shaking his head slightly, he dismissed the troubling familiarity.

He sighed, torn. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have been so harsh with her these past few days. She, or rather Cerridwen, had saved him and he no longer bore the Dark Mark. His magic wasn’t tied to the Dark Lord anymore. Although, it still felt tied to something. A different type of connection that felt more like an equalization rather than absolute dominion. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what that meant. He took another sip of water, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the glass. Once again, he was stuck with Granger. Only this time, it would be much longer than a month. Thinking on how drastically his situation had changed, he decided he would make peace with Granger and work with her and that band of foolish Order members to bring down one of the darkest wizards in magical history. If they could somehow win this war, assisting the Order without a damning Dark Mark could work in his favor.

_What else had he to lose?_

Determining Granger would be sore if she continued sleeping in her current position, he cleared his throat rather loudly and roughly set the empty glass on the nightstand. He smirked as she jerked awake and stilled upon realizing just exactly where she was.

“Watching me while I sleep now?” he taunted, flashing a crooked smile.

“I was just making sure your condition didn’t change during the night and I must have dozed off.” She challenged, while scrambling out of the chair and yanking it backwards from the bed, “You are a rather exhausting patient. I’ll go make some breakfast.”

“Granger,” he called, “Wait.”

She paused and slowly turned to him, a wary expression on her face.

“Look,” he started, stumbling over the words, “I know I have been difficult and-.”

She snorted at that, which he ignored.

“-I never thanked you for saving me.” He rushed out, his voice barely above a whisper, “I…I would also still bear the Dark Mark if it hadn’t been for you.”

Her expression softened as she walked forward and sat down on the edge of the bed. He flinched when she reached out a hand and gently placed it on his. His eyes dropped to the contact, shocked at how intimate it felt.

“I understand why you did it.” She explained, “And I’d do it again.”

With that she withdrew her hand, stood up with a small smile, and left the room. Draco could only stare at the empty doorway, utterly floored. Blinking slowly, he looked down at his hand where the ghost of her touch lingered. With the exception of his mother, no one had ever touched him with such sincerity and warmth. He inhaled sharply and flexed his hand, attempting to shake the need for Granger’s touch once more.

* * *

Hermione walked down the stairs slowly, her mind racing with what had just happened. Malfoy had thanked her. The rude, stubborn, and proud Slytherin Prince had actually thanked her! And what had she done in return? Touched his bloody hand like some simpering schoolgirl. She had been taken aback by the expression that flitted across his face, hence her abrupt departure from the room. He had seemed absolutely aghast by her touch. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, worrying if she had gone too far. Still burdened with the knowledge of kissing him, she hadn’t considered the consequences of even the smallest of gestures towards him. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she hoped to avoid any further physical contact with Malfoy. It felt too intimate and way too familiar.

_Almost as if it had happened before…_

Unnerved, she turned her mind to prepare breakfast, hoping her conflicting feelings would melt away.

* * *

A week later, she declared him healed enough and Draco nearly flew out of the bedroom into the crisp air of the woods. Despite the gruesome scene it had endured, Draco found peace in those trees. He inhaled deeply and walked slowly to the nearby creek. The ice was starting to break apart, indicating winter was drawing to an end and spring would come soon. Brushing off a snow-covered boulder and settling himself down, he watched the flowing water while trying to figure out how he would tell Granger his plan to assist the Order. Would she believe him? Snorting, he argued with himself that she probably would, but the rest of the Order definitely wouldn’t. He huffed and threw a pebble into the water with a _plunk_. At least he’d have some time to figure out his argument with the Order being underground for foreseeable future.

Oddly enough, his more pressing concern was Granger herself. After she had touched his hand, he found himself seeking it constantly. She must have felt something as well because she had been extra careful to avoid any further physical contact with him. Draco was dismayed to find himself upset that Granger was distancing herself. Several times, he had tried to initiate interaction like asking her to hand him a book or check his forehead for a potential (and invented) fever. Each time she had managed to evade him. He chided himself for being absurd and tried to convince himself it was simply some sort of cabin fever from being trapped in that room for over a week. Even though he knew it wasn’t entirely true, it was all he was willing to concede. He picked up another stone and angrily chucked it into the stream.

“What did that stream do to you?” came an amused voice from behind him.

He whipped around, startled from his thoughts. Simultaneously relieved and irritated to see Granger walking towards him.

“What do you want Granger?” he barked out.

“Hello to you too.” She responded, amusement still in her tone, “I came to check on you. You’ve been out here for awhile.”

“Are you going to do this every time I go outside?”, he fumed, “I haven’t tried to kill myself as you can plainly see.”

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips together, a look of frustration creasing her features.

“Arse.” She quipped, a finger tapping on her arm as she continued staring him down.

Draco sighed and brought a hand up to his temple, rubbing his forehead gently. Arguing and constantly snapping at Granger would not help his case. He dropped his hand and glanced up at the witch.

“I was trying to figure out how to tell you something, but…” he began, “I haven’t been able to word it right.”

Her face quickly changed into one of alarm and she took a step forward.

“Are you alright?” she asked quickly, “Is your arm hurting?”

“No, it’s not that.” he replied, pausing to collect his thoughts, “The Order is underground, leaving many unprotected. The Dark Lord will use this time to gather more forces. Tortures and killings will have more than likely increased and become more violent. I assume he has also become more reckless since losing you as his chosen weapon. Eventually everything will come to an explosive point, whether the Order is ready at the time or not.”

She stood silently, waiting for him to continue.

“So, what I am trying to say is since you and the Order assisted in my escape and subsequent Dark Mark removal, I find myself in your debt. I’d prefer to repay that debt as quickly as possible by offering my assistance and Death Eater intel to the Order in exchange for immunity from judgement should this war end in our favor.” He finished, watching her reaction.

Her arms dropped slowly as a smile graced her lips.

“I think we can manage that.” she declared, “Any other demands Malfoy?”

“I’ll give you a list later Granger.” He countered, picking up another rock and turning it over in his hands.

Granger nodded and turned to leave before she stopped and looked back at Draco.

“Thank you.” She said softly.

The splash of water swallowing stone was the only response he gave her.

* * *

After dinner, Draco grabbed a book and settled himself next to the fire. Granger had moved her chair next to one of the cottage’s windows and was quietly watching the snow fall. The moon was full and bright, highlighting the fluffy flakes. Draco was drawn from his book with the sound of sniffling. He looked up to find Granger looking longingly out the window, tears slipping down her cheeks. Despite the tears, he was taken aback at her appearance. It had changed somehow. The moon illuminated her in a milky light, reflecting the silvery tracks of tears. Her hair draped down her back softly, nearly at her waist. He had never noticed her hair being that long before. But what captured Draco’s attention was the glow coming from her eyes. The amber of her eyes seemed unnaturally bright. She gave another sniffle, breaking the moment.

“Snow isn’t THAT beautiful.” He called out, a small smirk forming.

“No, it’s not that.” she responded, shifting in embarrassment, “It just reminded me of my parents.”

The grin dropped from Draco’s face, feeling slightly guilty and annoyed he said anything in the first place.

“Care to elaborate?” He asked when she sniffed once more.

She turned towards him, hugging her knees to her chest.

“It’s not a particularly special memory.” She began, “It was the first Christmas holiday after I had begun attending Hogwarts and my parents took me to a park filled with trees that looked sort of similar to the ones here. We walked and I told them all the wonderful magic I was learning. They were laughing and Mum looked so proud. The moon was full just like this. Even the snowflakes look the same. It was simple and easy. I finally had friends and felt like I belonged somewhere. I wasn’t worried if Harry would get himself killed or if we would survive another year because of this war. It is one of the last times I remember being genuinely happy and carefree.”

Draco kept his mouth clamped shut. He had not expected that. Unfortunately, he had no words of comfort for her. But he understood, nonetheless. He recalled wintery afternoons as a child walking the grounds with his mother. Draco remembered the high and clear sounds of laughter from her as he played in the snow. Far from the Manor and his father’s disapproving glare, he and his mother could find small moments of joy near the expansive lake. Yes, he understood Granger’s sadness completely.

Noiselessly, he stood and walked over to where she sat. With a soft flick of his wand, he enlarged the chair to accommodate a second occupant. She watched him silently with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. Without a word, he sat down and placed his arm on the back of the seat, gauging her reaction. She stared at the empty space next to him for a while, several emotions battling behind her eyes. Finally, her eyes lifted to his, cautiously blank. He held his breath, not knowing if she would accept the unspoken invitation or flee from the room in revulsion or fear. Warily, she scooted closer until she nearly touching him. Once more, she peered into his eyes, almost as if she was waiting for him to bolt or push her away. Draco held her gaze, hoping she’d see this was his way of providing solace to her distress and not some cruel prank. Apparently finding what she was looking for, she slowly eased her small frame into the curve of Draco’s side while tucking her legs under. At a snail’s pace, she lowered her head until it rested on his shoulder. Noticing she was still very tense, Draco took a deep breath while summoning all the boldness he could muster, and gradually shifted his arm from the back of the couch to curl tenderly around Granger’s arm. The moment his hand wrapped around her arm, she melted into him. Draco felt slightly dizzy with realization on how intensely he had been longing to touch her. Her proximity was at once thrilling and terrifying. Soon, he would have to acknowledge what that meant but, for now, he was content to simply exist in the moment. He eased his head down to rest atop hers, hoping he hadn’t pushed her too far. Instead, to his astonishment, she burrowed further into his embrace while sighing softly. He inhaled, the scent of pine and peppermint radiating from her. He lifted his eyes to the calm scene of moonlight and snowflakes, wishing he could hold onto it and her forever.


	15. Discovery

**Chapter 15 – Discovery**

_A/N: So, for any of y’all that follow Tom Felton, you’ll find a little easter egg in here that ties Mr. Felton with Draco’s character. Hope y’all enjoy that little bit, I giggled when I thought of the idea and dubbed myself “clever girl”. I did a ton of research to make sure I got Metamorphmagi and Animagi magical lore correct. I apologize for any glaring errors._

_Song Recs: Holocene – Bon Iver and Try A Little Tenderness – Frank Sinatra_

* * *

Neither of them mentioned the evening spent watching the snow fall in the comfort of each other’s presence and Hermione was perfectly content to keep it that way. Both of them were under tremendous stress and it was only natural to seek solace through contact, but that was all it needed to be. Hermione was still incredibly concerned about the level of bonding between them and wondered if that spurred their growing need for each other. She had also noticed with some alarm that by the end of each day, she felt terribly exhausted. She originally attributed her fatigue to the care of Malfoy and the strain of healing him, but she should have recovered her energy by now. It was too early in the morning to be considering these kinds of thoughts and their implications, especially without a strong cup of tea. She needed to clear her head and decided a walk through the woods was exactly what was needed. Malfoy was still fast asleep on the couch as she crept by and out the door. The morning air still had a brisk chill, and she drew her cloak close. Taking a deep breath, she headed towards the forest.

Walking along the stream, flowing fast and free of ice, Hermione noticed the burgeoning signs of spring. The snow seemed to be shrinking away and there was a number of birds returning to the bare trees. She could also feel the changing of the air around her, a sliver of warm air swirling with the cold. She inhaled deeply, the smell of earth filling her nose. That muddy scent must be thawing soil, she thought. Soon shoots of green grass would burst forward. Despite her love for snow, Hermione was relieved. She loved spring with its growing sunshine, the explosion of life, and warmer temperatures. She continued her meandering walk when a flash of color caught her eye. Backtracking, she sought the location of the color and was absolutely delighted when she found its source.

Daffodils!

Growing up from the semi-frozen ground and lightly covered in snow were daffodils. Their sunshine yellow petals glowed brightly against the white blanket of the ground. Fresh stalks stood strong and several buds extended from them, promising further blooms. Hermione could have wept at them. Daffodils were such incredible flowers, bursting from nothing when others could not. And they were everywhere! She must have stumbled across an entire patch. Her eyes swept across the small clearing and noticed other colors had joined the vibrant golden blossoms. Purple crocuses with lively orange stigmas, delicate white snowdrops, and ruby red tulips. She clapped her hands in delight. A bouquet of colorful flowers was exactly what was needed in the cottage. It was a wonderful little place but definitely lacked any signs of color or life. Hermione walked around slowly, selecting blossoms with care while making sure to leave plenty of flowers with buds for future growth. She stood up after collecting her final flower, a particularly lovely crocus that was a deep purplish blue. Not fully opened, the petals had a beautiful satin sheen with the bright orange center barely peeking through. Holding the flowers in her hand, she smiled down affectionately at the simple beauty they exuded. Almost as if the blossom had detected her adoration, the crocus opened further, revealing a purple and white striped interior. Hermione blinked and shook her head. She was no expert, but plants didn’t open that quickly. She must be seeing things. Turning on her heel, she headed back to the cottage.

As it came back into view, she smiled at the thick curl of smoke rising from the chimney. Malfoy must be up and had already started a fire. The sun was overhead but there was still a coolness to the air. She looked forward to warming herself in front of a crackling fire, especially one she didn’t have to make. As she got to the door, a soft noise stopped her in her tracks. Looking around for the source and finding none around her, she realized it was coming from inside the cottage. She leaned forward and quietly put her ear to the wooden door, listening intently. The gentle sound of melodic humming floated through the wooden panels. The song sounded so familiar, like a song her parents would dance to. Rummaging through her brain, she tried to place the song and it wasn’t til the voice switched from humming to softly singing that recognition hit her.

_Try A Little Tenderness, sung by Ol Blue Eyes, Frank Sinatra._

Hermione wasn’t sure which thing to be more astounded by. The fact that Malfoy was singing, that he was singing a song by a muggle, or that he was actually a decent singer. As his voice tapered off, she determined that last fact was the most upsetting. She would have never pegged him for a singer, it just felt so out of his character. Although, she wasn’t so sure she could accurately describe his character anymore. He certainly wasn’t the same as he had been before. Not hearing any indication that he might start singing again, she opened the door and walked inside as if she hadn’t heard a thing.

Malfoy stood in the kitchen pouring some hot water in a bowl of oatmeal. He set the kettle down when she walked through the door and shrugged out of the woolen cloak. His focus shifted to the burst of color she held.

“Bringing me flowers eh Granger?”, He greeted, his eyes dancing.

Hermione inhaled sharply, too sharply, causing her to choke and cough. Malfoy lifted a pale eyebrow inquisitively while he watched her cough into her hand.

“Don’t be daft.” She croaked out after catching her breath, “I thought the cottage might need something to brighten it up. If you haven’t noticed, except for the basics, this place is completely bare.”

“That has not escaped my notice.” He countered, “They look nice Granger. Here, let me.”

He turned and grabbed a cup from the cabinet and withdrew his wand. With a swirl, the cup was transfigured into a ceramic vase in a creamy eggshell glaze. He looked up at her and held out his hand, motioning for her to hand him the flowers.

Stunned once again in less than five minutes, Hermione soundlessly placed the blooms into his outstretched hand. He set the vase down and gently began tucking the flowers in. Hermione stood awkwardly, her mouth opening and closing, at a complete loss for what was happening. How many times was Draco Malfoy going to surprise her like this?

He stepped back once he had finished and looked up at her with a mischievous grin. An expression which promptly disappeared upon seeing her face. He quickly turned around and resumed his shuffling about the kitchen. Hermione started, realizing her dumbfounded expression could be mistaken for judgement.

“They look lovely.” She declared, hoping to convince him, “The vase was just what they needed. The color matches well, like the flowers are coming from snow itself.”

His movements slowed down, and his head turned sideways.

“I looked through that tin of seeds from when we first arrived,” he spoke, turning to face her, “Since we’ll be here for a while, we’ll need to find and grow another source of food. This pantry won’t last us much longer. However, I also noticed there were some flower and herb seeds as well.”

Hermione blinked, not sure where Malfoy was going with the conversation.

“We should consider, once it has warmed up, growing a garden here.”, He explained, seeing her confusion, “And you can grow flowers to ‘brighten’ up the place like you said. We can also grow an herb garden for both food and medicinal purposes.”

What he was saying made complete sense, but that wasn’t what was causing Hermione’s brain to malfunction. It was the fact that he kept referring to them as ‘we’. They were going to grow a garden together. The Gryffindor Princess and Slytherin Prince rolling up their sleeves and planting seeds, together. He looked at her oddly, waiting for a response.

“Yes.” She squeaked out, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. A garden will be immensely helpful.”

He looked mildly amused by her high-pitched response. He reached for the tin containing the seeds and slid it towards her.

“See if you like any of the flowers in there and find out which of the herbs are the most valuable.” He suggested lightly, turning back to his breakfast and leaving Hermione flustered as she stared at the lively floral arrangement between them.

* * *

Even with his back to Granger, he could still feel her standing there. He wasn’t quite sure what had come over him, suggesting that they plant a garden had flown out of his mouth before his mind had kicked in. He figured she would have been surprised about the vase and flower arranging business, but that was just a product of his privileged upbringing. He had also noticed a slow but significant change in his attitude towards her, especially since that day in the woods. He rubbed his scarred arm and frowned. He had tried summoning his prejudice against her but had quickly discovered it was no longer there. A general uneasiness and slight distrust due to her volatile goddess status remained, but that was all. Draco was surprised to learn he no longer hated her. In fact, he suspected a shadow of another feeling was lurking below the surface. However, he was not ready to explore that just yet.

Looking down at his bowl of rapidly cooling oatmeal, he sniffed in mild annoyance. He also had a selfish reason for a garden. The majority of the food in the pantry was dried or on its last legs of magical stasis. He was desperately craving fresh food and herbs. And, he admitted begrudgingly, Granger was right in that the cottage was in desperate need of color.

He secretly smiled while imagining her flushed and glowing from the cold. He had been somewhat stunned at the vibrancy of the flowers she had collected. They looked almost fake with how bright the colors were. He wondered if that was Cerridwen’s doing? As Granger had pointed out, Cerridwen was capable of many things beyond their comprehension. He shrugged off the thoughts, knowing it was no good speculating until they deciphered more of the old texts.

He cast a warming charm on the oatmeal and his cup of earl gray and made for the comfort of his chair by the hearth, bypassing a stock-still Granger. He smirked to himself. At least she hadn’t heard him singing. That would probably send her straight to the magical coma ward of St. Mungo’s.

* * *

With Malfoy healed, the two resumed their attempts at translations. Hermione thought that was one silver lining of their extended stay, they’d be able to discover more and gain a better understanding of what was happening to her. An earlier discussion had prompted them to work on two separate subjects. She would focus on learning more about Cerridwen and Malfoy would peruse journals, ones that only those of Malfoy blood could open, for any mention of Horcruxes or any other forms of similar magic. She had been hesitant to explain horcruxes to Malfoy, but his reaction to her words suggested he had already figured out that Voldemort had been in possession of some sort of incredibly Dark artifacts that extended his life. He, however, had blanched at learning just how many the mad wizard had made. He listened quietly as she explained how Ron had destroyed the locket with the Sword of Gryffindor.

“Didn’t think the Weasel had it in him.” Malfoy remarked offhandedly, “But, that explains why my aunt went absolutely loony on you.”

Hermione coughed lightly, not ready to address her time spent under Bellatrix LeStrange’s knife. She shivered at the memory and turned back to the book in front of her, not looking at Malfoy. He wisely kept his mouth shut and returned to his book as well.

Hours passed and night began to fall. Hermione was considering calling it an evening when a string of runes in the upper corner of a page caught her eye. They shimmered in and out of focus. She blinked rapidly, wondering if she had strained her eyes in the low light. She looked up briefly to see if Malfoy was having similar vision issues. Not seeing any signs of visual stress beyond a look of intense concentration, she glanced back down at the text. The runes continued wavering on the faded paper. She frowned while gathering the book in her arms, stood up, and began pacing in back and forth by the fire. She hoped the proximity to the bright flames might help with the flickering movement.

An idea sparked in her mind and she took a deep breath while focusing her magic on the text. She pictured in her mind’s eye the act of the runes translating themselves. She pictured the runes’ linework transforming into the slants and curves of known language. She felt Cerridwen moving like a shadow behind her eyes, a sense of curiosity and mild amusement floating around her. Focusing more intently, Hermione concentrated on applying her magic to the translations. It was all highly theoretical, but as she had argued to Malfoy, they had a very vague idea of Cerridwen’s true magical potential. Feeling the magical intention was complete, she opened her eyes and peered at the curious symbols.

* * *

_SMACK._

A sharp slap startled Draco from the antiquated Malfoy journal he was studying, and he whipped his head around to glare at the source of the sound. Granger was standing by the fire with a look of absolute shock on her features, her hands in the air as if she were holding something. He stood and walked cautiously towards her, suspicious another Cerridwen episode was occurring. Confirming there was no sudden temperature drop and her eyes remained their usual amber color, he noticed a book open at her feet. Confused, he leaned down, picked up the book, and peered at its contents. Finding nothing but indecipherable runes, he glanced at her once more.

“Granger.” He snapped, hoping to draw her out of her stupor.

Her eyes seemed to re-focus and her lips began to move, a faint sound too low for Draco to hear.

“Speak up Granger.” He grumbled, irritated at her soft tone, “Not all of us have an internal goddess that gives us superhuman hearing.”

“I’m a shapeshifter.” She whispered.

Draco’s expression darkened. Surely, he had heard her incorrectly. Shapeshifters, specifically non-cursed human shapeshifters, weren’t real. Maybe she was referring to Metamorphmagi or Animagi.

“I don’t think I heard you correctly?” he ventured, “Did you just say shapeshifter?”

She nodded and pointed towards the book.

“That book said I am, or rather, Cerridwen is.” She breathed out.

Draco snorted, looking down at the book in his hands and finding no text save those damned runes.

“I think you’ve had enough. All this studying has apparently made you a bit mad or tired, probably both.” He replied, shutting the book and setting it down.

“No,” Granger spoke forcefully, “I don’t think you understand. Cerridwen showed me.”

Draco stared hard at her, unable to grasp what she was getting at. He watched as she took a deep breath and plopped down in his armchair, the look of shock still creasing her face.

“The runes were fuzzy, almost like they were refusing to stay still.” She explained, “I focused my magic and tried to use it to transform the runes into words.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” He scoffed, pacing back and forth at her words, “ If that was the case, we would have figured out these texts ages ago.”

“I know,” she responded, her irritation visibly increasing, “But I felt Cerridwen react when I focused my magic. I just knew she had the power to translate runes about herself. Or maybe I could see the ancient language through her eyes. I don’t know how it happened! I just opened my eyes and the words were there.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t referring to Metamorphmagi or Animagi?” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Or maybe even something symbolic? You know those older texts like to be cryptic and vague.”

“No.” she answered hotly, “It specifically spoke of Cerridwen’s shapeshifting abilities, specifically several animal forms. It also mentioned that she used this ability to chase after a thief who sought to steal her magical knowledge.”

Draco was astounded and skeptical of this revelation. Could Granger truly shapeshift? If so, she’d be the first magical being known to do so. Animagi could only transform between themselves and their chosen animal form. Metamorphmagi were incredibly rare and even then, no one had ever been able to confirm whether they had the ability to shift into full forms beyond humans, such as animals. His cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, was a Metamorphmagus. But she was born that way, Granger was not. Nor did it appear that Granger could turn at will like his cousin. He rubbed at the dull throb growing in his temples.

“So,” he stopped pacing to address her, “Shapeshift then.”

She sputtered in response, shooting him a withering glare.

“I don’t know how!” She cried, crossing her arms in irritation.

“You also didn’t know you could translate runes by literally willing them into being.” He shot back, arranging himself in a defensive position.

She shot out of the armchair, throwing her arms out in exasperation. He continued to watch her, waiting and curious to see if she would attempt anything.

“This is ridiculous, Malfoy!”, she sniffed, “I can’t just shapeshift on command!”

“Maybe if you calmed down and focused, you’d be able to channel your magic properly.” He drawled.

Granger put her hands on her hips defiantly and narrowed her eyes in annoyance. Draco grinned internally when she huffed at his expectant expression.

“Fine!” she growled and dropped her hands from her hips.

Relaxing from his earlier stance, Draco walked over and stood opposite her small form. Looking down, he noticed a small tremor rattling her body. He placed a light hand on her shoulder, willing the shaking to stop.

“Just breathe.” He ordered, “And focus like you did with the runes.”

She nodded resolutely and shrugged out from under Draco’s palm, closing her eyes with a deep breath. A strange expression flitted across her face, replaced by a mask of calm and concentration. Several moments of silence passed with no movement from Granger. He was about to speak up when her eyes popped open and her nostrils flared as she released a sharp pant.

An overwhelming brightness flashed through the cottage and Draco stepped back in awe, shielding his face. The light receded and he opened his eyes, blinking through the spots flaring in his vision. Noticing Granger was gone, a wave of sheer panic washed over him.

Hearing a small squeak, he looked down and a long line of obscenities fell violently from his lips. Where Granger had stood moments before, now sat an… _otter_.

* * *

_Post Chapter A/N: So, this lil revelation is part of the reason I chose Cerridwen as Hermione’s goddess counterpart. The transformation story of Cerridwen has one of her animal forms as an otter, which we know is Hermione’s Patronus. The connection was too perfect to ignore!_


	16. Divulgence

**Chapter 16 – Divulgence**

_A/N: Happy early Christmas/Holidays! And you know what that means – extra-long chapter (but truth be told, it was completely unplanned haha)!!! Also, I can’t believe we are almost halfway through the story. I honestly never knew how rewarding writing fanfic could be. This story was originally supposed to be just 10 chapters but I realize that wouldn’t have done this storyline justice. The amount of growth between when I started writing and now is surprisingly noticeable. So, once the fic is finished, I am considering going through and doing a re-write of the earlier chapters to keep the sentence structure and narrator tone consistent. Thoughts on this?_

_I was also graced with a new idea for another HP story (different pairing though). I’ve always been a niche sorta gal and believe the old magic/paganism influences should be explored further whether in this fandom or as a standalone, original story. Can you guess where I’ll go next?_ 😊 _\- delphicpigeon_

* * *

Draco stared hard at the chocolate-colored creature below him, its fur shining brightly in the warm light of the fire.

“Granger?” he asked the small mammal, a mix of caution and anticipation in his voice.

The otter looked up at him and gave a single nod, beady eyes watching him closely.

“Bloody hell…” he whispered, “This is incredible.”

He crouched down, gulping loudly. If this creature was indeed Granger, he’d have to finally accept who she was. An exceptionally powerful, formidable, and highly dangerous goddess hybrid with shapeshifting abilities. And that was just her currently known abilities. There were still pages of texts they had yet to crack.

“I feel slightly mad talking to you.” He hesitated, “I can tell this is not like a typical Animagis transformation. Could you provide some indication that you understand me?”

Draco felt foolish as the otter got on all fours and padded towards him in an almost serpentine fashion. She stopped in front of Draco’s left knee, where his elbows rested and hands dangled between his legs. The otter peered up, warily watching his reaction. Cautiously, it lifted its tiny paw and rested it tenderly on the top of where his Dark Mark had previously resided.

Draco jerked back at the touch, losing his balance, and crashed to the floor rather ungracefully. His mind was whirling.

_She WAS a bloody shapeshifter._

Draco drew his long legs towards his body and repositioned himself cross-legged in front of the diminutive form. She had dropped back to all fours and her whiskers were twitching nervously. He remained still as she tentatively stepped forward again, her coat reflecting strands of russet and brown. She stopped short, leaned back on her haunches, and held out her paws as if she were trying to convey the seriousness of the situation. Which, as Draco would admit, was a dreadfully serious matter. Finding his voice, he looked hard into the animal’s eyes.

“Can you turn back?” he croaked, “Or am I stuck with an otter?”

The otter dropped her paws in disappointment and closed her eyes. Draco had a split second to cover his eyes before another blinding burst of light illuminated the cottage’s main floor. After the glow had waned, he opened his eyes to Granger kneeling in front of him. Startingly close to him. Their noses were nearly touching and he felt the ghost of her breath on his lips. Silver met amber. He inhaled sharply.

_ARGHHHH!_

Draco had not meant to yell out in surprise, but the dizzying nearness of a now-human Granger had been a bit distressing. The witch had just been a bloody otter! He had his hand clutching his chest, trying to catch his breath, when a giggle followed by a fit of laughter tumbled from Granger’s direction. His head whipped up to scowl at her outburst.

“What’s so funny?!” he demanded.

She continued laughing while attempting to stifle a snort, clearly enjoying Draco’s discomfort.

“Hmpfh.” He grunted out, while rising up from the floor.

“Oh, don’t be such a child!” she giggled out, “I couldn’t have said it better myself. _This is incredible_.” A wide grin spreading across her face as she slowly repeated his words.

Draco sputtered. _Sweet Salazar!_ He slowly rounded on her, gathering himself with all the Slytherin snark he could muster.

“Yes, well,” he sniffed, “An otter isn’t that impressive. They aren’t exactly…”, with a third blinding flash, Draco was forced to swallow his words.

* * *

Hermione had taken absolute pleasure in messing with Malfoy. He had once again doubted her abilities. It turned out she had not one, nor two, but four animal forms. A sleek greyhound with powerful legs. A playful, yet versatile otter. A massive and deadly hawk with strong wings. And…a hen. The hen form confused but amused her. A greyhound could run. The otter could slip into a watery getaway, while a hawk could take to the skies with deadly talons. Maybe, there was some reasoning behind the nondescript fowl. She shrugged internally.

The transformations themselves had been surprisingly painless but depleted her magic rather quickly. After focusing her on the transformation, like she had with the runic translation, the world had transformed. Cerridwen had whispered in her ear, explaining all the forms she could take. Hermione had initially been especially irked that Cerridwen had not revealed this information outright. However, Cerridwen had explained that due to the nature of Hermione’s partially-bonded status, both as her vessel and with the ‘Fallen Prince’, it prevented her from complete connection to Hermione. In other words, Cerridwen could only speak to Hermione periodically, and even then, the link was weak. Cerridwen had not returned with Hermione’s subsequent shifts, being present only for the otter, before slinking below the surface once again.

She was draped unceremoniously on the couch, watching Malfoy walk around the room as he struggled to absorb everything she had told him. He would stop and open his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut and resume walking laps around the lower level of the cottage.

“Malfoy,” she called out gently, “Your constant pacing is making me dizzy. I’m exhausted and can’t keep up with you. Please sit down.”

He slowed to consider her request and gave a slight nod before slinking into the armchair across from her. He leaned forward, a solemn expression in place, placing his elbows on his knees while interlocking his fingers beneath his chin. Hermione gave him a tired smile. The transformations were more taxing than she originally thought. She was struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Are you alright?” she heard Malfoy ask in a low voice.

“Yeah,” her voice barely a whisper, the smile dropping from her face, “I’ve been pretty worn out lately and those transformations just took that last bit of my energy.”

Her eyes closed and she was instantly asleep, not seeing the troubling shadow that crossed Malfoy’s face.

* * *

Draco stared hard at her drooping form. She seemed to be wasting away in front of his eyes. Her normally tangled nest of rich brown curls were hanging limply down the side of the couch and small shadows were starting to form under her eyes. Her face had sharpened somewhat and he was startled to see just how delicate she looked. He had heard her mention being worn out more often than not and after watching her go through transformation after transformation, he knew he’d have to share his mother’s words soon. Her warning rang in his head.

_You shall be bond to the witch that acts as a vessel for the Dark Goddess. Without a secondary magical core to share that – the Granger witch will die._

He groaned inwardly. It had been weeks since Cerridwen had taken over Granger and he wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to contain that power on her own. Even worse was that he was hiding this information from her and that he also knew how to fix the dilemma. Unfortunately, his mind refused to decide whether it was absolutely horrified or secretly delighted that Granger’s survival depended on him. One-third of the Golden Trio needed an ex-Death Eater as a bond mate. He had finally decided that he wasn’t quite so appalled at the idea of being bonded to her. There were certainly worse witches to be magically stuck with for the remainder of his existence. She was clever, capable, and unendingly fascinating. He drew a deep breath, settling his thoughts for later consideration. He had had enough excitement for one day.

He stood up and walked over to her sleeping form. Her breathing was deep and even, but her face was twisted into a slight grimace. He briefly wondered if she was having a bad dream, considering everything she had been through recently. Dragging a thick blanket from the back of the couch, he gently placed over her, and threw another log onto the fading fire. Grabbing another blanket for himself, he cast a Cushioning Charm, and settled into his chair.

Recalling when she had watched over him during his recovery, he smiled softly. She had cared for him when he had given her no reason to. Glancing at her one last time for any changes and finding none, he summoned a book and read til sleep took him.

* * *

Hermione slept for nearly two days straight, waking only to eat a quick meal or relieve herself. The transformations had far more brutal to her magical reserves than she originally thought. Malfoy had been surprisingly silent and uncharacteristically sympathetic to her exhaustion. Leaving simple, but filling meals by her bedside and vanishing the dishes once she was done. He didn’t attempt to engage her in any conversations or discussions when she was awake and Hermione was thankful for it. She barely had the energy to eat, let alone think. Finally, on the third day, she was able to stay awake. However, she didn’t quite have the strength to remain upright and was content to sit either in her upstairs reading nook or downstairs by the fire. She had tried to resume text translations but quickly found the task too draining. Malfoy was out collecting more firewood and she didn’t want to cause issues by wearing herself out again.

Looking around and spotting the seed tin, she summoned it over, and opened the cylinder to inspect the contents. She found cooking herbs like basil, rosemary, and oregano. A couple of fragrant herbs such as mint, lemon balm, and lavender. There were plenty of vegetables from several types of tomato, a couple squashes, many root and vine varieties, and even a handful of leafy greens. In a small packet at the very bottom of the tin were the flowers. In faded handwriting, Hermione learned the envelope contained hydrangeas, rambling roses, wisteria, violets, and a single iris bulb. She smiled gently into the cylinder and felt her eyes begin to water.

Her mother had adored irises. She always kept a vase of them at the Granger dentistry practice when they were in season and they had lined the front of their home for as long as Hermione could remember. Her smile dropped as she struggled to keep tears from falling. She felt like fate was taunting her. A single bulb of her mother’s favorite flower. Would she even be able to get it to grow? Hermione hadn’t exactly demonstrated a green thumb like her mother, especially if Herbology was any indicator. She wasn’t necessarily bad at it but had relied on her photographic memory of the Herbology texts rather than her actual “gardening” abilities. The glimmer of an idea entered her mind and Hermione bit her lip, considering it.

If she could use her magic to translate ancient runic language and transform between several animals, how difficult would it be to use that same magic to coax the iris to life? She paused her line of thinking for any indication that Malfoy was approaching the cottage. Hearing nothing, she took a deep breath and cupped the iris bulb in her tenderly in her hands. It was just a small flower bulb, she argued with herself. It would hardly take any magic to encourage some young roots. After settling herself into a comfortable, upright position on the couch, she took a cleansing breath and focused her magic.

Then it all went dark.

* * *

Draco was gathering his final cuts of wood when he felt a shiver at the base of his spine. The feeling traveled up and seemed to ghost over his blemished arm like the briefest skim of a fingertip. He frowned as the sensation passed before something like a wordless warning slammed into his skull.

_Granger._

He bolted towards the cottage, dropping the cut timbers he had so carefully selected. All he could think of was her. As the cottage came into view, he breathed a tiny sigh of relief at seeing the building intact. Nearly blasting the door off its hinges, he cast off his clock and searched furiously for her.

His breath caught violently in his throat as he caught sight of her limp form on the floor, slumped dangerously close to the popping embers of the fire.

_Never a dull moment with this one, his internal monologue snarked. Seems neither of you can go extended periods of time without experiencing some sort of physical malady._

Her hair was strewn across the wooden floor. Her skin was ashen, and her slender arms were thrown carelessly around her. Draco observed a round bulb with a greenish spike sticking out inches from her outstretched fingers. He took a sharp breath and rushed to her side. Kneeling, he gently tilted her head towards him and watched for signs of life.

“Hey,” he urged quietly, “I don’t know what happened, but I need you to wake up now.”

He slipped his hand under back of her neck, cradling her head. He searched her face for any movement and dropped his head against hers, their foreheads meeting.

“Breathe,” he pleaded, his lips brushing lightly against the hollows of her cheek, “Hermione, please.”

As if on cue, she took a great, heaving breath and her eyes fluttered open and he pulled back. She searched his eyes for a moment, unfocused and dreamy. They widened suddenly and she squirmed out of his arms.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, panic rising in her voice.

“What do you mean ‘ _What am I doing here_ ’?” he shouted, “I should ask you the same thing! I come back to find you basically dead on the floor and you ask ME what’s going on?!”.

She blinked up at him, understanding dawning on her face. She shuffled into a sitting position against the couch, wrapping her arms around her knees. She dropped her head and Draco could practically see the guilt rolling off her. Gryffindors were so transparent.

“Tell me what happened.” he ordered, his patience waning.

She gave a muffled response, refusing to lift her head. He coughed in irritation. Obviously, she wasn’t going to make this easy. He decided to use a different tactic.

“You are being incredibly rude, you know.” He remarked, “I am attempting to assess your well-being and you are ignoring me.”

He smirked victoriously when she lifted her head, her eyes watery and a look of indignation creasing her brows. He crossed his arms while she sniffed back a response. He looked pointedly at the bulb by her side, waiting for her eyes to follow his line of sight. When she finally caught on and observed the offending item, she let out a stuttered breath.

“Well?” he questioned.

“I can explain.” She started.

“That’s kind of the point Granger.” He sneered, “You better explain quickly as to why I found you basically unconscious next to a plant bulb that has no business growing like that. Especially as there are no spells that can encourage life in that manner.” He pointed to the roots that had sprouted from the bottom of the bulb.

She looked at the bulb then to him, a spark of fear dimming her eyes.

_Interesting._

“I didn’t think it would take that much magic. It’s just a bulb. I thought maybe I could jumpstart the root growth. Honestly, I’m fine. You can stop worrying.” She rushed out, her words strung together.

Draco nostrils flared in anger at her dismissive tone. She had just barely recovered from the strain of the transformations. He had panicked thinking she had been hurt or someone had broken through their wards.

_How dare she make him worry!? He seethed inside. Since when did he began to feel responsible for her safety?_

Draco stilled as cold realization washed over him.

_He did want to protect her. He wanted her safe. And, most selfishly, he wanted to be the only one who could provide that._

Draco felt his logic crumble when that last thought entered his mind.

“Stop worrying!?” he exploded, “How can you be so incredibly thick-headed and a complete dunder? You barely survived the magical drain from saving me, translating those runes, and the shapeshifting! If you haven’t noticed, you’ve been a ghost, sleeping days at a times and wasting away.”

Draco was so caught up his anger that he didn’t think about what would come out of his mouth next.

“Can’t you see how magically draining these actions are? At this rate, you’ll die from your connection to Cerridwen just like my mother warned.” He yelled breathlessly.

Her head whipped up at his words, her eyes narrowed to slits.

“What do you mean ‘ _just like your mother warned_ ’?” she whispered, her words dangerously low, “And I suggest you start talking now.”

Draco gulped, screaming internally at his massive cock up. _This would not go over well._ Deciding it would be best to get it all over in one go, he slowly backed out of her reach and quickly summarized the contents of his mother’s letter.

“My mother figured out that Cerridwen was to be bound to you just before the bonding ceremony, and she attempted to inform me of the consequences of that bonding.” He continued, “She also described, in the briefest of detail, the implications of being Cerridwen’s consort.”

Draco swallowed hard as he watched Granger stand slowly from the floor. Her hair was beginning to float freely around her, small sparks of gold and silver arching and splintering around her. _This was definitely not going well at all._

“So help me Malfoy,” she bristled, “Spit it out!”

“Without a complete bonding to your consort, which will provide a secondary magical core to stabilize the raw and volatile magic of Cerridwen, your magic will be consumed, and you will die.” He finished, his voice barely audible.

She stood there for the briefest of moments, her face dropped into a “o” of surprise before she flew towards him. He had no time to anticipate her movements before she shoved him hard against the wall, a finger stabbing his chest.

“YOU KNEW THAT THIS WHOLE TIME AND DIDN’T THINK TO SHARE IT WITH ME!?” she shrieked in fury, “You didn’t think I might want to know that I might die soon and the only person that could save me was YOU?”

Her tone was accusatory and it surprised Draco how it hurt to be on the receiving end of her rage and disappointment. It felt like his father all over again. At the same time, his resentment was growing at the audacity of her claims. He didn’t choose to be her consort nor was it his fault that she was a vessel for goddess. He slapped away her finger.

“So what if I knew? We aren’t bonded nor we will we be. Snape stopped the bonding ceremony on Imbolc.” He maintained.

Abruptly, her wrath deflated at his words and she stepped back, her face pale at his words. Draco was baffled by her actions. He honestly couldn’t keep up with her unpredictable mood swings and wished she would just focus on a singular emotion.

She was wringing her hands and avoiding eye contact with him. The last of the sparks disappeared from her hair before she finally looked up at him from underneath her lashes.

“That’s not exactly true.” She squeaked out, “I can’t exactly bond with anyone else.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to be suspicious.

“What are you going on about Granger?” he hissed.

“Remember when I found you in the woods that day?” she began, a slight trembling to her voice, “There were some… _conditions_ …to bringing you back.”

He clenched his fists, digging his nails into the palms of his hands.

“Conditions?” he echoed, cold fury laced in his voice, “What did you do?”

She was visibly shaking now. Whether from whatever confessions she held or from fear, he didn’t know nor did he care. He only cared about finding out what she had done to him and what it meant.

“I was so scared when I found you, cold and bleeding out. I couldn’t let you die. I begged Cerridwen to help me and she agreed.” She answered fast, “Cerridwen said I could transfer some of my magic, which is connected to hers, to you. But by doing that, it created a magical bond between us.”

She fidgeted as he stood there, unblinking.

Draco wasn’t sure what he expected Granger to say, but that certainly wasn’t it. She had just admitted to giving him a fraction of her and Cerridwen’s magic. Could that explain why he knew something had happened to her? Was that why she had been so exhausted lately? Sharing magic like that was an act so intimate and profound that few wizarding couples bonded their magic when they were married. Magically bonded pairs could not exist without each other. Their magic was amplified due to the shared connection, but they quickly perished upon their partner’s death. Draco felt incredibly out of his depth. Not even his parents had bonded their magic together.

“How did you do it?” he asked quietly, “How did you bond us?”

She hesitated, toying with a strand of hair. The answer was clearly uncomfortable for her, which alarmed Draco even further. He stepped towards her and gripped both of her arms, shaking her slightly.

“What did you do?!” he demanded.

“A kiss.” She mumbled, so sedate that Draco nearly missed the word.

_A kiss? Now he had an answer for why her lips had struck him as familiar._

He roughly released her and backed away. He struggled as his thoughts screamed angrily. She had done it to save him. He gripped his head as his emotions and logic fought with each other. Was he truly mad because she had kissed him or because she had hidden it from him? Was it because he was bound to her in some form and deep down, he was actually grateful? Years and years of purist teachings assaulted him. He should be revolted and disgusted to be paired with a Muggleborn, goddess or not. Words echoed over and over in his head.

_She gave her magic freely to you. She saved you and asked nothing in return. She needs you as much as you needed her. Despite years of tormenting her, she selflessly gave you a piece of herself so you had a chance._

He had been taught his entire life that Muggleborns stole Pureblood magic, but in a very strange turn of events, a Muggleborn had given him magic instead. That alone went against everything he had ever known. A strangled cry drew him out of his spiraling thoughts.

She was standing across from him, tears dropping from her eyes and her entire body trembling.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done it without your consent.” She cried, “But you were dying. There was blood everywhere. I didn’t know what else to do.”

A forlorn expression danced across her eyes, clearly remembering the bloody scene. Draco could hear several emotions in her voice and he realized that they were both equally guilty. His secret predicted her death and hers had kept him from it. He bitterly recognized just how much he owed her. His mind flashed back to when she had placed her hand on his and stated she’d save him all over again. He shuddered slightly, finally grasping the depth of the gift she had given him. A gift one day he may have to return in full. Running his hands through his hair, he gestured to the couch.

“Sit down Granger,” he started, releasing a sigh, “It seems we’ve both kept secrets from each other.”

She obeyed silently, dropping on the couch, angrily wiping away tears. Draco produced a handkerchief from his pocket and levitated it over to her lap.

“Stop crying.” He spoke softly, “This changes nothing. I am still grateful for you saving me that day. Although, knowing the whole story certainly makes it more…interesting.”

She blew her nose and gave Draco a wary look.

“You aren’t angry?” she asked, her sniffles lessening.

“As angry as I’d like to be,” he sighed, “You saved my life and removed the Dark Mark, thus giving me a second chance in wizarding society. Also, I will admit hiding your tragic fate wasn’t very gentlemanly of me. At this point, there is nothing that can be done. If you created the beginning of a bond between us, then so be it. Maybe this unexpected bond can prolong your demise and we can find an alternative solution.”

She cocked her head at his words, considering his suggestion.

“Yes, maybe someone else would be willing to bond with me.” She agreed sadly, “Once again, I am deeply sorry for my actions.”

Draco simply nodded at her apology. Her agreement with an alternative bonding prompted a flare of jealousy, despite the words being his idea. He didn’t like the idea of her bonding with someone else. He frowned, tossing the feeling aside as a consequence of the unintended bond.

* * *

Hermione wasn’t sure how to fully process the conversation that had happened between them. A flurry of thoughts had bombarded her afterwards. Malfoy had been absolutely furious at her revelation then suddenly, he had just simply accepted her actions. She had honestly expected him to react much more violently when he found out she had kissed him and started a bonding process between them. Even more strange was his complete lack of acknowledgement of the kiss shared between them. He had quietly explained just how uncommon magical bond pairings were and she had been amazed at how subdued he had become. She supposed if the tables had been reversed, she would have reacted the same way. Hermione was nothing if not logical. She respected that Malfoy was taking the same approach to the whole situation. Although, she did feel some guilt at causing him to panic over her safety. She had also been astonished when he had confessed to what appeared to be a side effect of their fledgling bond.

_I guess I should mention that I have already observed a minor connection between us. I shrugged it off as wizard’s intuition, but after what you have told me, I think it’s safe to assume it’s part of the bonding.” He admitted, “I didn’t just happen upon you earlier. I was out in the woods collecting wood when something told me you were in danger.”_

_"Something told you?” She had asked, confused, “Like something spoke to you?”_

_He shook his head in response._

_Not actual words. Just a general feeling.” He huffed, “It felt like fingers on my skin. Urging me to do something. I knew it had to do with you when it stopped on my scar.”_

Hermione couldn’t deny his reasoning nor provide any explanation. She merely nodded in agreement. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the discussion and seeing that Malfoy wasn’t speaking further, she quietly stood and ascended up the stairs. She threw herself onto the down comforter and quickly slipped into a dreamless sleep.


	17. Headspace

**Chapter 17 – Headspace**

_A/N: I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas holiday and are staying safe. 2020 has been an absolute bummer of a year and 2021 is full of unknowns. I hope this chapter puts a smile on your face. We all need an escape. Here’s to the New Year – cheers my friends <3_

* * *

While she rested upstairs, Draco gently picked up the bulb that had been left untouched on the floor. He turned the plant in his hand. Roots had sprouted, reaching for soil and water. Rather than let her magical efforts be wasted, he wrapped the bulb in a warm, damp towel and cast a statis charm til he could find a way to plant the thing. For now, there was firewood that still needed to be collected. He had dropped it all in his panic. Heading for the door, he affixed his cloak’s closure and headed outside to finish the task.

An hour later, he had a solid pile against the side of the cottage and the bin inside fully stocked. Taking a break, he noticed that the majority of snow had melted and he could see the setup of the property around the cottage better. To the left, a couple meters away, lay the flowing creek. Its waters swelled with snowmelt. An empty space sat on the right.

_Hmm._

Thinking of the bulb, he considered the space. It was appropriately sized for a small garden. He walked through the mud towards the space and looked around. Looking upwards, he noticed the upstairs reading nook window overlooked the potential garden space and was also aligned with a proper path for sunlight. He chuckled lightly to himself. Yes, this was definitely the perfect spot for a garden. After their enlightening conversation, Draco decided that he needed to do something to properly thank Granger. Gratitude with conditions attached felt disingenuous. His brows furrowed as he attempted to think of what she could possibly want. He obviously couldn’t buy her anything out here. Besides, he wouldn’t even know what to buy her besides books. Even then, he was unsure of which subject of book he would get. She had so many interests and passions. He would have to make do with what he had in front of him.

His mind drifted back to the bulb once again. He wondered why she had been so focused on that particular one. There had been several seeds and bulbs in that tin. He remembered suddenly which plant it was. It had been the only iris in there. Maybe, he wondered, irises held a singular importance to her. Maybe they were her favorite flower? He shook his head. Flowers were such a juvenile approach to show appreciation.

However…

His feet were already moving before his brain caught up. He recalled the wild bouquet she had brought back and set out hoping to find them. As he walked through the woods, searching for the bright blooms, he let his mind wander.

_If they were truly connected in some way, he wondered if he’d be able to detect her magic. To see if it was different from his. She seemed to know what his magic looked like. He made a mental note to ask her the next time she woke. What did her magic look like?_

_He snorted at his line of thought. He was more concerned about the physical manifestation and form of their magic rather than the fact that her magic resided within him. He had to admit he was mildly curious as to what abilities were possible with this connection. Even with just a small amount of bonding, he could seemingly detect any distress she encountered. Could she sense the same thing in him?_

_He decided to let his mind lazily address the growing pang of attachment towards her. He conceded internally that he had not cared for her suggestion of seeking out another bond mate. Although, he figured that issue would resolve itself once their minor bond was severed. Admittedly, he didn’t feel physically comfortable at the thought of their bond being severed, but she deserved a better bond than someone who barely accepted her magical heritage._

_He also noticed his desire to be closer to her was intensifying. Remembering the scent of her hair and the way she had felt in his arms. He sniffed, not ready to acknowledge THAT feeling just yet. He could admit he enjoyed her company and didn’t want her hurt. That wasn’t a bonding thing, he argued internally, just what a normal wizard was supposed to do for someone they considered…_

Draco stopped abruptly.

_What DID he consider her? Consort was just archaic and weird. They were way past being acquaintances. Friend didn’t feel accurate either considering their past history along with what they had been through together so far. Even the label for whatever it was they were felt unknowable._

He huffed and resumed walking, thinking of Granger was becoming wildly confusing and left him with more questions than answers. He searched until he happened upon a cluster of wild winter flowers. Looking around, he noticed more flowers bursting from the ground. His boots were caked in mud and he reached down to run a finger through the wet earth. The ground was soft and pliable, indicating the soil was no longer frozen. He smiled once again and set to work.

A couple hours and several _Scourgify_ later, Draco had a collection of budding bulbs in his possession. Yes, flowers were juvenile, but a secret surprise garden was pure genius. He grinned at his clever idea. If this gift didn’t impress her, nothing would.

A sarcastic voice in his head remarked at the exceedingly romantic nature of the gesture, but Draco ignored it’s mocking tone. Romantic or not, he retorted mentally, she had given him life and he was just returning the favor in an exceedingly ingenious manner. He strolled back to the cottage as the sky darkened and carefully hid the bulbs where she wouldn’t find them.

He creeped up the stairs and gently eased open the door to check on her. Their bond hadn’t given indication she was in trouble, but he needed to visually confirm her well-being regardless. Satisfied with her soft breathing, he quietly backed out of the room and slipped downstairs. Following a simple dinner, he curled up next to fire and fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

The next few days passed uneventfully. Hermione slowly regained her strength and abstained from using any magic beyond simple spells, choosing instead to stay in bed and read. She had been dismayed to find the iris bulb missing when she ventured downstairs but assumed Malfoy had thrown it out after their discussion. She was heartbroken but couldn’t blame him. She had hurt herself magically and he didn’t know what the iris meant to her. Privately, she mourned the loss of the flower and her mother’s memory along with it.

Padding downstairs, she frowned finding the cottage empty. He seemed to be spending more and more time outdoors. More specifically, he appeared to be purposefully avoiding her. She couldn’t blame him. The days were finally getting longer and warmer. The snow was completely gone and green buds had begun to dot the previously barren tree branches. She crossed her arms, irritated at his prolonged absences. She knew she had messed up with the bulb business, but it wasn’t fair that he should punish her this way.

_Wait a minute, she scolded herself. Just because there is a bond between us, a tentative one at that, doesn’t mean he is required to spend time with me. That literally removes any semblance of free will. I didn’t ‘bind’ him to me for the company. I did it to save his life._

_Or did you? Cerridwen’s voice hummed from the back of her mind._

_Of course, she argued back. What kind of person would that make me if I had just let him bleed out in the snow?_

_Whatever settles your soul, my vessel. I distinctly remember you begging him to ‘come back to you’, Cerridwen responded simply. Its all here in your head, child._

Hermione huffed in exasperation. The last thing she needed was a goddess with access to her entire memories and thoughts while using that information against her.

“Oh hush!” she whispered forcefully, “I’ve already got enough on my mind, I don’t need you analyzing my thoughts.”

“Umm, not to interrupt,” a voice spoke, “But, who are you talking to?”

Hermione whipped around to face Malfoy as the echoes of Cerridwen’s light laughter bounced in her head. He was watching her, his face slightly flushed. She struggled on whether she should tell him the truth or try and play off her undoubtedly questionable behavior. Unable to come up with a convincing excuse, she chose the truth.

“Being the vessel for a goddess isn’t exactly a walk in the park,” she quipped, hoping her light tone would shake any suspicions he might have on her sanity, “I can’t control when she chooses to speak to me and sometimes it’s a bit, uh, overwhelming having a second voice in my head.”

She held her arms out, trying to show Malfoy she was physically unharmed and still, somewhat, of a sound mind. He searched her up and down before settling on her eyes. She gave a weak smile, hoping he believed her. 

“Glad to know you haven’t quite gone over the deep end.” He responded, a smirk lifting the edge of his lips, “If you are done consulting with your own personal goddess, I’ve got something for you.”

He held out a gloved hand towards the door, gesturing that she should follow. She ignored his jab at Cerridwen and threw on her cloak, fastening the collar.

_What could he possibly show me, she wondered._

She walked behind his tall form at a cautious distance. He stopped at the right side of the cottage and held an arm out. See nothing out of the ordinary, she looked at him in confusion.

“There’s nothing here.” She murmured, suspicious that he was making fun of her.

“Close your eyes.” He chuckled, a boyish grin lighting up his features.

“What are you up to Malfoy?” she asked, anxiety creeping into her voice.

“Relax and close your eyes.” He replied in annoyance, “Are you always this difficult?”

She huffed and slowly closed her eyes. Feeling a rush of air around her, she panicked slightly and made to open her eyes.

“Ah. No peeking.” She heard Malfoy say in a sing-song voice as his hand gently covered her eyes. “One more charm and then you can look.”

“They are closed.” She exclaimed.

She felt the air change again, then Malfoy’s hand lifted from her eyes.

“Ok, now you can open them.” He urged.

She cracked her eyes opened, which immediately widened when they adjusted to the sight before her. Hermione’s hands flew to cover her mouth, which had just dropped open in shock. It was the beginnings of a garden! The beds had been prepped and surrounded by a white wooden fence. A small greenhouse sat to the side, its insides already glowing with an intense green haze. Next to the greenhouse, on a post, sat a simple birdhouse. Everything looked straight out of a home and gardening magazine. She turned to look at Malfoy, at a complete loss for words.

“There’s one more thing.” He shared, “Just over here.”

She stumbled after him, still in shock. He strode towards the greenhouse and pulled open the door, motioning for her to follow once more.

“Look inside.” He commanded, his grin still in place.

She stepped inside, immediately noticing how warm it was inside. He closed the door behind them and pointed to the shelves. She gasped. Rows upon rows of tiny, vibrant seedlings were pushing through dark earth – held in small, clay containers.

“How did you?” she squeaked out, her words refusing to leave her lips properly.

He laughed mildly and she smiled at the sound, despite her shock.

“Magic.” He gestured vaguely to the building around them.

She lightly smacked his arm in response to his sarcastic answer.

“Obviously.” She snarked, “Is this what you’ve been doing while you were ‘out’?”

He nodded, choosing not to elaborate, and directed her to a particularly large pot filled with robust growth. Her throat went dry when she grasped what she was looking at.

_The iris! He had saved it!_

Tears immediately sprang to her eyes and before she could control herself, Hermione launched herself towards Malfoy and wrapped her arms around him in a crushing hug. She buried her face in his chest and smiled against the wool of his cloak.

“It’s beautiful!” she cried, sobs threatening to choke her, “Thank you so much.”

Malfoy froze momentarily in her arms before giving her an awkward pat on the back. She gently released him, realizing she might have overstepped his personal boundaries.

“I’m sorry,” she offered, giving him a watery smile, “I just thought the iris was gone.”

He quickly recovered and gave her a shy smile in response.

“Are irises your favorite?” he questioned, his posture relaxing somewhat as he leaned against the greenhouse’s counter.

“They were my mother’s favorite. She planted them all along the front of our home every spring.” Hermione replied, a longing in her voice, “I think that’s why I wanted so badly to make it grow. It would be like I had a piece of her here with me.”

“I understand.” He answered, looking down and seemingly unsure of what to say next.

She peered at him closely. His features were soft and almost boyish with wispy, platinum strands framing his face. He appeared lost in thought and Hermione’s breath hitched as she guessed he was more than likely thinking about his own mother. Their experiences converged more on commonality than difference as time went on. Her heart went out to him and somewhere under the surface, she felt the flutter of something else. He had worked diligently to create this splendid garden just for her. Drumming up that infamous Gryffindor courage, she made a decision.

“I love it…” She spoke, softly testing the waters, “Draco.”

His head gradually tilted towards her and he pushed off the counter, his posture tense.

_Oh hell, her mind shrieking in panic, this was a terrible mistake. Of course she had to go and ruin a perfectly good moment. Maybe she could back out of the greenhouse before he exploded on her._

She took a cautious step back, her eyes never leaving his. They flashed and she gulped nervously, unable to read what emotions were flickering across those icy depths. As quickly as his reaction had come, it disappeared as he slumped back against the counter once more. She released a breath she didn’t known she had been holding.

“I, uh…you’re welcome…H-Hermione.” He faltered, clearly struggling.

Looking away, she couldn’t ignore the flurry that burst in her chest when her name fell from his lips. Even in a stutter, her name sounded like music from his mouth. A soft cadence of syllables. How badly she wanted to hear it again. She coughed gently, trying to tamp down the wild fluttering before turning her eyes to his again.

He was watching her, a strange expression on his face. It reminded her of the odd look he had given her back at Malfoy Manor when they had walked the grounds by the frozen lake and he had accidentally called her Granger instead of that dreadful ‘Marked One’ sobriquet. He took a step forward and it sent a tremor through her. The greenhouse quickly closed in on her and Hermione was acutely aware of just how close they were. One more step and he’d tower over her. Her body refused to move, waiting breathlessly for his next movement.

He closed the space between them and raised his arm, his hand hovering to the side of her head. His eyes had darkened, simultaneously dangerous and compelling. She felt his fingers start to thread into her curls while lightly brushing the curve of her neck. The touch went straight to her toes and she let out a ragged breath.

The sound seemed to knock him out of his trance and his fingers twitched away from her. He blinked, his face growing empty, before he roughly brushed past her and out of the greenhouse.

* * *

Draco’s mind was screaming as he bolted from the greenhouse, leaving a probably bewildered Grang-, wait, _Hermione_ in his wake. He wasn’t sure how to address her anymore. With a two, little syllables, she had ripped the figurative rug out from under his feet. His thoughts were racing so quickly, he couldn’t seem to focus on a single one.

_The way his knees had nearly buckled hearing her say his name. The suppressed groan at what that sound had done to his insides. The warmth and kindness radiating from her surprising embrace. The unbridled and fierce desire to possess her that rocked his core. The feeling of her body pressed against his. The spark that moved him towards her. That he wanted nothing more than to hear her whisper his name over and over._

His feet carried him swiftly to the field where he had originally harvested the bulbs. He smacked his palm against his forehead, groaning into the surrounding silence. He had created this outdoor escape for her and he had run out like a coward. In less than five minutes, she had managed to tear a gaping hole in his emotional walls. Walls he had built to save himself from truly caring for her. Each night he tried to forget how he was spiraling into a place he had never been. He had only ever genuinely cared for one person. His mother. He respected Snape. He feared his father. He was friendly with Blaise and Theo. But he had never allowed anyone to emotionally reside any deeper, but somehow, that bushy-haired goddess-witch had wormed her way in before he even realized it.

_Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?_

He dropped onto a nearby log and dropped his head into his hands. His hair swept forward, the longest it had ever been. He sighed. Another change. His entire world had shifted on its axis in these past two months and at the center of his universe was her.

He groaned once more and lifted his head, focusing on a nearby tulip. The ruby red blossom swayed with a soft breeze and Draco reached down, breaking the stem and lifted the flower to his face. He focused on the gloss of the petals, the grains of pollen, and whatever minute details his eyes could find – desperately attempting to think about anything else. Something in which he failed terribly.

_Is this because I am supposed to be her consort and since the bond has been enacted, the draw intensifies? How am I supposed to know if anything I am feeling is actually real and not some blasted prophecy? I wish I could ask Mother. Maybe she would have known._

_Too late now, she was gone, he thought bitterly._

“Gah,” he yelled in frustration, tapping the tulip against his cheek in exasperation, “Why is this so hard?!”

He threw the flower down, as if to blame it for a lack of answers and rose from the log. He couldn’t stay out here forever, he’d have to face her again. Wiping his hands on his trousers, he stalked back to the cottage.

* * *

She stood outside the greenhouse, nervously chewing on her thumb. He had run off almost half an hour ago and she had struggled on whether to follow him or not. She had decided against it and roamed around the garden and greenhouse, waiting for him to return. In the meantime, she took catalogue of the seedlings he had managed to grow. Their names were written on small pieces of parchment in looping, elegant script. She admired his penmanship. Harry and Ron were extraordinarily messy writers and she had constantly nagged them to improve their writing style. She frowned, remembering her two best friends. She wondered if they were alright and if anything had progressed with the Order. Which, in turn, made her grimace. Eventually, she would have to convince the Order to forgive Draco Malfoy. She continued on this train of thought, listing various reasons she’d use to as evidence.

A small chirping interrupted her musings and she looked down to see a tiny puff perched lightly on the birdhouse. It had a coppery breast framed in soft grays and light blues. Hermione giggled at how round the bird appeared, a robin by the looks of it. It chittered vigorously in response to her giggle.

“Hullo there.” She greeted, holding her hand out gently, “You are lovely, aren’t you?”

The robin gave a couple sharp chirps and hopped down into her outstretched palm. Hermione released a squeak of surprise that the bird had actually landed in her hand. She refused to move for fear she’d startle the tiny creature to death. It resumed its twittering, as if it were venting to her about its day.

“Well, it is very nice to meet you.” She giggled, “It sounds like you’ve had quite the day!”

It bounced and flapped about, squeaking in further avian discussion. It stopped its journey across her hand and gave a single low squawk, apparently sensing danger. Hermione slowly turned her head to find Malfoy staring at her and the bird in her hand, an incredulous and mystified look on his face. His head was shifting back and forth between Hermione and the bird. His pale brows were so high, they had nearly disappeared into his hairline.

“A-are you having a conversation with that bird?” he stammered out.

Hermione glanced back at the robin and it cocked it’s head at her, then flew from her hands back to the birdhouse.

“It just flew into my hands and started chittering away.” She answered carefully.

She dropped her hands and turned towards him.

“Look…” she started.

“Please let me speak first,” he held up a hand to stop her, “I shouldn’t have run when I did. I supposed I was just a bit shocked at you saying my name after being called Malfoy for so long. If you are upset, please know that it was not my intention. This was supposed to my way of showing appreciation for saving my life.”

Hermione sniffed, noticing he had purposefully chosen to avoid their earlier interaction in the greenhouse. The moment she was most curious about.

“I am not upset.” She responded lightly, choosing to follow his lead and let the moment lie unspoken, “I was worried I had crossed a line. Honestly, when you consider it, calling each other by our last names is a bit ridiculous. We’ve both helped each other, we are stuck together in this cottage, and there is also the little issue of the bond.” She finished with a smirk.

He seemed to visibly relax at her answer before he shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered towards her.

“You’ve got a point there…” he agreed, a roguish note to his voice, “ _Hermione_.”

_Oh my!_

He drew out the syllables like he was pouring honey and it went straight to her navel. _Sweet Circe, this better had not be a reoccurring theme every time he speaks my name. I should not be struggling to hold myself together like this. Maybe I shouldn’t have advocated for us to use each other’s name?_

Squaring her shoulders, she decided to return the favor.

“Glad you agree, _Draco_.” She purred silkily, drawing out his name as he had done with hers.

She grinned, receiving the response she was hoping for. His eyes widened a fraction as he thickly swallowed. His steps faltered only for a moment and she struggled to stifle the giggle bubbling up her throat. He hastily recovered and stopped a safe, but respectable distance from her. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and crossed them over his chest.

“So what’s the bird name?” he asked, tilting his head towards the small animal.

Hermione snorted, amused at how fast he deflected the conversation from their exchange. She turned to address the robin, who had remained perched on the birdbox, and lifted a finger to her chin in mock concentration. She hid a smile as a devious little plan formed in her head.

“Might I inquire as to what your name is?” she addressed the robin, pretending to listen carefully.

The bird gave several chirps and then promptly flew away. Stifling another snort, she rearranged her face into a serious expression before turning back to Draco.

“His name is Hugo.” She answered, keeping her voice as level as possible.

He released an odd sort of involuntary sound, like a mix with between a grunt and gasp while his eyes bulged slightly.

Hermione couldn’t help but crack a smile while she cackled internally. He didn’t need to know she that she did not actually have the ability to converse with animals like some sort of Disney princess. She’d save that bit of information for another day.

* * *

_Post A/N: Yes, Hugo was totally intentional. It’s a nod to the Cursed Child and that’s all I’ll say about that “story”._


	18. Wolf In Your Darkest Room

**Chapter 18 – Wolf in Your Darkest Room**

_A/N: 2021! A new year, a new us, and a new chapter! T/W: minor PTSD and a brief torture “flashback” containing demeaning language. Due to an unexpected visit to the ER this past weekend, I wasn’t able to review (my usual final check for grammatical errors and continuity/language issues) the chapter as thoroughly as I would have liked. Please let me know if you see any glaring issues and I’ll fix them_ 😊

_Song recs for you: Crazy – Nothing But Thieves (this is such a phenomenal cover of the original song by Gnarls Barkley) and Hope For Now – City and Colour_

* * *

Hermione quickly lifted a hand to smother the loud laugh that threatened to burst out. She had let Malfoy think she could communicate with animals for a touch longer than she probably should have. She wasn’t sure if the creatures could sense her underlying animal forms or because of Cerridwen as they tended to be a little more domesticated in their behavior towards her . Something she had definitely taken advantage of.

“So, you can’t actually understand them?” he grumbled.

“Not a bit.” She answered with a self-satisfying smirk, “They probably just sense my animal forms and are more relaxed.”

Giving a final shrug, she resumed her task of taking inventory of their remaining pantry stock. A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I must say I am impressed,” he continued, “That’s not very Gryffindor of you. I dare say you’ve got some Slytherin tendencies up your sleeve. Sounds like I’m rubbing off on you.” He finished with a wink.

“And what do you call that little display of gallantry?” she countered, pointing her quill in the direction of the greenhouse, “Looks like you’ve got a little lion in you yet.”

He sputtered and dropped his face into mock disgust.

“That,” he responded curtly, “Was just being polite. Nothing Gryffindor about it. I’d rather trap myself in a closet with several boggarts.”

“Is that so?” she challenged, setting down her quill and started slinking towards him, “You’d rather face your worst fear than be associated with Gryffindor? Lions aren’t so bad. King of the Pride. You would know all about pride wouldn’t you?”

He was watching her movements warily with eyes narrowed in mistrust.

“That I couldn’t say. It depends on how you utilize it.” He asserted, watching as she glided by the side of his chair, “And Gryffindors’ pride is most offensive.”

“If you say so, Mr. Malfoy.” She teased lightly, circling behind him, “But what about their glorious manes? Usually, a darker mane is an indication of a strong male, but white-haired lions are considered rare and even divine by some cultures.”

Stopping directly behind him, Hermione lightly placed both hands on the top of his chair and leaned forward. Her curls draping down his shoulder as she whispered.

“Don’t you want to be considered divine?” she breathed slowly into his ear.

_Oh, this is just too easy,_ she mused internally as he froze in place. Taking advantage of his shock, she swiftly reached across and tousled his neatly styled hair before bolting away from the chair.

“ARGH!” he yelled out in surprise, “Oh, you are in trouble now Granger!”

Hermione shrieked in delight as she raced out the door, grabbing the edges of her dress so she wouldn’t trip. As she ran outside, she glanced behind her to see if he had followed.

“Bloody witch!” she heard him call from the interior, “I’ll get you as soon as I get these damned boots on. Why do boots have so many laces?!”

A shiver of excitement ran through her as she disappeared behind the greenhouse. She heard his shoes slap in the mud nearby and she chanced a peek around the corner. He was standing halfway between the creek and the garden, apparently attempting to decide if she had fled into the forest or stayed nearby. She smiled at his disheveled hair and flushed face.

_If she was honest with herself, Draco Malfoy was rather fit. He was tall and lean with a slight athletic build, not as muscular or bulky as Viktor or Ron were. He moved gracefully, almost like a lion, she added with a smirk. The flush gave him a human quality, something she appreciate immensely. Otherwise, he reminded her of the beautiful and ethereal elves described in the Lord of the Rings series. With his jaw-length hair and high cheekbones, he look every inch she imagined elven royalty to be._

She attempted to draw back behind the greenhouse, but accidentally knocked into some gardening tools which resulted in a small crash. She cursed her clumsiness. She quickly checked behind her then moved once again to peer around the corner. He had disappeared from the clearing, so she took a deep breath and crept forward. She had made it halfway between the garden and the cottage when a pair of arms closed around her, pulling her against them.

“Gotcha.” They whispered into her ear, an amused tone in their voice.

Sheer horror immediately washed over her.

_No. They had found her found again._

She began thrashing around violently and released a piercing shriek while the person holding her gave a surprised grunt.

“DRACO! Get out of here before they find you!” she roared, her voice nearly cracking from the effort.

The arms immediately released her and taking no chances, she bolted towards the woods. She’d be damned if she didn’t make a last-ditch effort to escape a second round of torture. As she flew across the clearing, a small part of her hoped they would follow her instead and give Malfoy a chance to get away. She doubted Voldemort would let him survive if he were captured as well. Tears stung at the corner of her eyes as the air burned in her lungs.

“Wait! Wait, Hermione! It’s me, Draco! Stop running!” she heard call out from behind her.

She skidded to a stop and turned to the panicked voice.

He was running towards her, concern plainly written in his eyes. He stopped an arm’s length away, panting heavily. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage, stuck between the need to fight and the immense relief that the danger hadn’t been real. As he struggled to catch his breath, she stood there as the adrenaline began to wane and was replaced with an immense emptiness.

_It wasn’t real. At least not this time. There was no guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again. They would always be a threat until Voldemort was destroyed. She was acting like there wasn’t a war going on by playing silly games with Draco Malfoy, of all people!_

“What in Salazar’s name happened back there?” he questioned, his gaze intense, “Did I hurt you?”

The question caught Hermione by surprise. He thought he had hurt her and the guilt tugged at her. This was all her fault and she felt her bottom lip begin to tremble.

“I’m fine.” She croaked out, “I just thought the Snatchers had found us.”

He jerked, obviously not expecting that answer. He made to move towards her and she quickly drew away. He stopped and looked at her, his face contorted into a mix of anger and shame. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, shivering slightly.

“You thought I was a Snatcher?” He asked, hurt laced in his words.

“Yes, they grabbed me in a similar manner before I was brought to the Manor and my mind just immediately assumed we had been found.” She snapped.

His face softened at her response but he wisely did not attempt to come close to her again.

“I didn’t realize…” he began.

“It’s fine. I need to be alone.” She stated gruffly and left before he could say something that would send her into a full breakdown.

She scurried to the cottage, hoping to muffle the cries that were threatening to engulf her. If she could just make it to the upstairs room, she could cast a quick _Muffliato_ and scream until exhaustion took her. She didn’t bother to check if he had followed. He didn’t know the trauma she had been through and she didn’t need him.

* * *

He watched her rush towards the cottage and wrench the door open before slamming it shut. He didn’t dare move a muscle until she was out of sight. He knew better now. As soon as she had disappeared, he sank to his knees. Guilt consumed him.

_She thought he had been a Snatcher and what had she done? She had called out to him, begging him to escape. Not a single ounce of concern for her own well-being, only that he got a head start._

He had nearly missed it over the sound of her screams and the intense struggling that he hadn’t know she was capable of. His mind had struggled to process the mental whiplash the moment it had switched from innocent fun to something much more sinister. He had panicked upon hearing her screams, thinking somehow he had harmed her.

_See? Another reason why you’d be a horrible bond mate. You can’t even touch her without her thinking you are attempting to attack her, an inner voice taunted. Look at all the things she has done for you and she recoils from you in fear regardless._

Draco clenched either side of his head, willing the voice to shut up. She had been through so much and he only made it worse. Staring down, he frowned upon noticing the dirt smeared on his trousers. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed deeply. There wasn’t many places to escape in the cottage and he figured taking a long, hot bath would give her free reign of the cottage without his presence.

Steam filled the small bathroom as he peeled off his clothes and threw them haphazardly thrown to the corner. Sinking into the hot water, his hand gripped the edges of the tub as he leaned backed against the curved porcelain. It was silent except for the occasional drip of water from the faucet, too quiet. His eyes rolled up to the ceiling above him. She must have cast the silencing charm or else he would have heard some sort of sound by now. He resolved to check on her following his soak, despite their small bond indicating she was physically fine. Emotionally, however, he imagined she was a complete wreck.

He closed his eyes, remembering the shrill panic in her voice and the shadows of fear in her eyes. Their conversation playing over and over in his head. His mind fixated on her warning.

_Get out of here before they find you!_

The water quietly rippled as he sat up and begin tracing patterns on the water’s surface. He frowned at the sight of his hands. They were responsible for so many things, such dark deeds and inaction. The cabinet from Borgin & Burkes, the cursed necklace on Katie Bell, Dumbledore’s death, watching Hermione and other witches, wizards, and Muggles be tortured along with countless other unforgiveable acts. He wondered how he could ever be truly forgiven for such heinous crimes. When they had first arrived, he had selfishly plotted to use Hermione as leverage for lesser punishment. Now, he was nearly sick with the thought of ever considering the possibility of treating her so callously. Angry with himself, he sunk below the surface and into the silence of the water.

Opening his eyes, the ceiling wavered and small rainbows shimmered from the overhead light. His pale hair floated around the edges of his vision and small bubbles lifted from his lips. Even as a child, he had loved floating just below the water’s surface. Something his mother had absolutely loathed, for many times she had thought him drowned. In the water, the world was muffled, soft, and momentarily peaceful. In this place, he could think freely without fear of judgement.

* * *

_She arched her back against cold, hard marble as indescribable pain coursed through her veins. A shrill cackling surrounded her and flooded her ears. How she wished the sound would stop! Gasping, a new pain bloomed in her arm. Small, jagged pains that flared like fire and threatened to consume her._

_“Where did you get it?”, the high voice sneered into her ear._

_She opened her mouth to speak but found no words would come forward. She licked her cracked lips and tried to speak again, only to have the air forced from her lungs as a kick connected with her stomach._

_“Filthy Mudblood.” The voice hissed, “I won’t let you escape this time.”_

_Coughing violently from the pain, she felt her body lift and an icy hand snake across her throat. She felt a hot, wet tongue dart along the shell of her ear and the hand squeezed tighter and tighter. Her limbs refused to move and hung limply as her assailant invaded her._

_“He’ll never want you, disgusting creature. I smell how your body aches for him, whore. Did you really think he cared for you?” the voice taunted maliciously._

_A whimper dropped from her lips as the hands continued pressing harder and harder against her airway._

* * *

Feeling his lungs constrict in their need for air, he broke the surface and took a breath. Pushing his hair back and reveling in the feel of the warm water droplets sliding down his skin, he looked once more at the ceiling. A small thump emitted from it and he could have sworn he felt the quietest tremor at the base of his spine. He stilled, waiting for another sound or for the unsettling feeling to grow. When neither came, he scowled at his paranoia. Noticing the water was beginning to cool, he pulled the stopper and stepped out of the tub.

With a towel wrapped around his low on his hips, he padded over to the sink and wiped the steam from the mirror. He gazed at his reflection, slightly taken aback by the changes in his appearance. His hair hung slick, brushing against his jawline. He had always kept his hair short to avoid slowly transforming into a replica of his father. However, now that the traces of severe stress had left his face, he saw a glimmer of his mother shine through. The dark circles had faded, the tightness around his eyes had softened, and he no longer look malnourished. He couldn’t remember the last time he had looked this normal. Probably the start of Fourth Year, he thought with a sniff. After the Quidditch World Cup was when his father had announced that he would begin shadowing “business” meetings and other similar situations which eventually led up to his initiation into the Death Eaters’ Inner Circle and subsequent Dark Mark branding. Neither of which were a part of his life anymore and he knew, deep down, that she was responsible for that. If he was being truly honest, she was also probably the reason why he no longer looked like a shade of himself. As if with the removal of the Dark Mark, she gave back the piece of life it had tried to steal away.

He sighed heavily and in that moment, he finally acknowledged his feelings for her existed beyond the realm of their bond and that Hermione Granger, known as the vessel of the ancient goddess Cerridwen, was all he wanted until his he took his final breath.

* * *

_Tears fell like rivers from her eyes, the salt burning tracks in her cheeks. She tried, over and over, to force her magic out. Anything to escape from the arms that held her too tightly. The hand dropped from her throat and she gasped, her lungs aching. Before she could be grateful, those cruel fingers threaded through her hair and jerked her head back painfully._

_A starry sky soared above her, blurred between pain and tears. She felt cool fingers release her hair and slide against the curve of her neck while the other arm pulled her closer still, a hard body pressed up against her back._

_“Is this what you want? To have him pressed against you?” the voice spoke low, neither masculine nor feminine, “That just won’t do. Crucio.”_

_Again, she could not find her voice. It was drowning in her agony and pain as the torturous spell raced through her entire being. Her mind screamed over and over, begging her to just open her mouth so it would all end. Her teeth nearly cracked as she ground them together while her body bucked involuntarily against her captor. As nebulas and planetary rings flashed hazily across her vision, the spell ended and she was dumped once more onto the unforgiving stone floor._

_“Disgusting.” The voice scoffed, the sound morphing into something familiar, “Just as weak and pathetic as I thought.”_

_Heavy footsteps walked to where she continued writhing on the ground, the curse’s aftereffects wracking her muscles. She felt their presence crouch before her and gently brush away her sweat soaked curls. She recoiled at the touch._

_“It’s all an act, a by-product of the bond. How could someone like me ever sully themselves with something so beneath them?” the voice breathed out, “Look at me Granger.”_

_At the sound of her name, she twisted her head towards to the one face she had hoped not to find._

_Draco._

_As her eyes met his, it was only then that she found her voice and shattered into pieces._

* * *

Exhausted from what was supposed to a relaxing soak, Draco stumbled to the kitchen to fix a cup of chamomile tea before heading up to check on Hermione. After spending the better part of an hour coming to terms with his true feelings along with the emotional turmoil of earlier, he felt like he could sleep for several lifetimes. As the tea steeped, he felt that familiar shiver flow down his spine. Glancing up at the ceiling once more, he held his breath and listened for any signs of movement from Granger. The faintest thump sounded and he narrowed his eyes. It felt like the strings of their bond were being pulled taunt, like the strings of a bow. His breath caught at the tightness. Moving slowly, he removed the teabag from the cup and blew gently on the steam. Another thump landed from above, more insistent this time and Draco nearly gasped at the coil of tension wrapping around his spine. He knew immediately that he had put off checking on her for too long. He had hoped to give her some space to recover mentally, but the bond was urging him to move faster.

Lowering the cup, the coil burst open and a piercing scream echoed from above. The cup slipped from his grip and shattered on the ground and he flew up the stairs towards her. Bursting through the door, he was met with absolute chaos and destruction. The room was in tatters, remnants of magic and dust swirling through the air. The thick, wooden headboard was cracked and down feathers were scattered everywhere. She was thrashing violently, struggling against some unseen force while shrill cries tore from her throat.

He quickly scanned for any signs of intruder, his wand held forward. Seeing none, he rushed to her side and gripped either side of her shoulders.

“Hermione, wake up!” he demanded, “I need you to wake up now.”

Her shallow, erratic breathing continued as her eyes roved wildly under her eyelids. Her arms flailed under his hold while tears streamed down her face. He noticed sparks illuminating her hair in the dark and he panicked slightly, worried another Cerridwen episode was oncoming. He shook her harder, hoping to pull her from whatever nightmare had taken hold.

“WAKE UP!” he screamed, quickly considering whether to smack her awake or even dowse her with water if she didn’t snap out of it.

Thankfully, it worked and her eyes popped open as a scream died on her lips. She looked around wildly and attempted to scramble from his hands. He held fast.

“Draco?” she questioned timidly, barely audible and shaky.

He released a sigh, thankful she was seemingly lucid. He let go, somewhat reluctantly, and reached up to pull the curls plastered to her face from the tears. He quickly lit the lamp on her beside and searched her for any injuries she might have sustained in her struggling. She sat limply with a blank stare as he gently lifted her arms for inspection. A bruise was beginning to bloom on her arm and she winced as he prodded at her wrists. Looking up at the wrecked headboard, he assumed she had struck the solid wood rather hard in her fight.

“I’m going to heal your wrist alright?” he explained, “This might sting a bit.”

She simply nodded.

“ _Episkey_ ,” he cast, a small popping noise indicating her wrist had indeed been fractured.

She hissed through her teeth and quickly withdraw her arm from his, cradling it against her chest.

“Is anything else hurt?” he probed.

She sat for a moment, her brow furrowing as she appeared to make a mental catalogue of herself.

“I don’t think so.” She answered quietly.

He nodded, relieved.

“What happened?” she breathed out as her eyes widened, becoming aware of the chaos surrounding her and his sudden presence in her room.

“It looks like you were having a nightmare and your magic seems to have lashed out in response to whatever you were seeing.” He guessed, surprised at her confusion.

“How did you know I was having a nightmare?” she responded, a slight accusatory tone to her voice, “I cast a _Muffliato_. You shouldn’t have been able to hear anything.”

“The bond.” He growled back, “It indicated you were in danger. Would have preferred I let you destroy the entire cottage because you were having a bad dream?”

She dropped her head and lifted her hands to her face, releasing a strangled sob. Draco’s irritation vanished instantly.

“Hey,” he asked tenderly, “Are you alright? It must have been a pretty awful dream to have your magic manifest like that.”

She sniffed hard and released a shaky sob. She dropped her hands and slowly lifted her head, peeking at him from underneath a curtain of curls. Draco had the distinct feeling she was looking for something, some indication, but he was not sure what it was she sought. As she searched his face unabashedly, he observed hers in return. Gone was the swotty, round faced Gryffindor he had teased mercilessly in their youth. In her place, sat a strong-willed and astounding witch. Her amber eyes were sharp and calculating, Draco could practically see the cogs twisting in her mind. However, he also noticed a heavy weight deep within. As if she held the entire burden of the wizarding world’s fate in her eyes. Surprisingly, he found that thought simultaneously encouraging and disheartening. A young witch shouldn’t be responsible for the survival of magic from the clutches of a madman, but if anyone were capable of such a monumental task, it would be her. Beneath those dark waves, she was raw, vulnerable, and a force to be reckoned with.

Draco thought back to his earlier realization and wondered, with her physically before him, if he felt differently. Fixing her with a searching look, he knew immediately that his feelings had not changed. If anything, seeing her only further strengthened his resolve to stay at her side. Starting tonight, he would make good on that promise.

“I need you to answer me Granger.” He urged, cautiously placing his hand atop hers, “Are you alright?”

“I’m ok.” She croaked out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he ventured.

She gave a small shake and sniffed hard. Draco pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed over to her.

“Maybe later but right now, I just can’t.” she confessed, “Thank you for checking on me. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Stop Granger.” He started, as she attempted to hand him back the handkerchief, “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

She blinked, a small frown drawing her lips down.

“If you think I am leaving you alone after all this,” he emphasized, gesturing to the destruction surrounding them, “Then you are a fool.”

She flushed slightly in the dull light of the bedside lantern and opened her mouth to argue.

“Don’t even try Granger,” he tutted, “I’ve made up my mind. Now scoot over.”

She sputtered at his instruction but slowly slid to the side of the bed. Draco grinned internally. Carefully keeping his face neutral, he vanished the layer of down feathers that blanketed the bed and mended the torn comforter. As he did so, she kept strangely quiet and watched his movements warily.

“I promise to be a complete gentleman,” he intoned sarcastically, “Now go to sleep.”

He dropped his loafers on the floor and slipped beneath the covers before she could protest further. She sat stiffly for several minutes and Draco felt her eyes boring into him.

“I believe I said ‘go to sleep’.” he murmured, shifting onto his side.

Finally, she gave a small huff and shuffled under the covers. He waited until her breathing became deep and even, listening for any signs of another impending nightmare. He briefly considered the surprising state of affairs that he was sharing a bed with Granger, but noted with some apprehension, that the choice had felt utterly natural. He rolled over as softly as possible until he was face to face with her. Her brow was relaxed and her lips parted softly. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and tucked an errant curl behind her ear that had fallen forward. As he pulled back, he let the pad of his thumb drag delicately across the swell of her cheek. She sighed into the touch and he swore her lips curved into the smallest of smiles. Not wanting to disturb her further, he whispered a quick extinguishing charm on the lantern and was asleep in seconds.


	19. Searing

**Chapter 19 – Searing**

_A/N: Hello y’all – IT’S MY MFING BIRTHDAY, so I’ve got a surprise for you. Enjoy!_

* * *

Reveling in the warmth of the gentle morning sunlight, Hermione was hesitant to open her eyes. She breathed in deeply, the fogginess of sleep still heavy on her brow. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so soundly. Burrowing her face deeper into the soft, downy pillow, she began to tuck her arms under when her fingers brushed lightly against something solid. Her eyes popped open in surprise as memory of last night’s events tumbled around her head.

Shifting to her side, she was startled to find Draco Malfoy’s sleeping form across the bed and swiftly snatched her hand away. She held still, wandering if her movements had disturbed him. When he didn’t move, she decided to use the opportunity to study him up close. He was wearing a pair of navy cotton nightclothes, in which the top buttons were undone and his chest was visible. Dark blonde hairs peeked through and she blushed fiercely. She quickly averted her gaze from his oddly attractive chest hair and settled on a much safer location, his head. He practically glowed in the morning sun, a halo shining his hair.

She tore her eyes from him and looked at the ceiling. She winced when she noticed the scorch marks branded across the wood. Looking around, she surveyed the damage from her night terror. The headboard was cracked, one of the armoire’s doors was hanging on its hinge, downy feathers coated the floor, and a lantern laid smashed to pieces. The previously welcoming sunshine now illuminating her destruction with a harsh glare. She released an irritated grunt.

_How had she been able to cast her magic subconsciously?_

The question perplexed her. Children had accidental outbursts, but they were always while the young witch or wizard was awake. They were never known to be asleep. Racking her brain, she couldn’t recall any recorded incident in which this had occurred. Frowning, she glanced back over at Malfoy and idly wondered what he thought of her latest magical outburst. They seemed to be occurring more frequently. She had always been proud of her emotional control on her magic, but it seemed to be slipping away. Maybe it was the remnants of that rotten dream, but a small part of her felt that ‘dream Draco’ had been correct in calling her weak.

On the other hand, her magic felt the most settled since their arrival. Despite having a brutal nightmare only hours earlier, she felt energetic and well-rested. Could his closeness, and the bonded magic by extension, have some potential effect? Or maybe, she speculated, different types of contact might result in different manifestations of the combined magic.

Shifting closer to the center of the bed while focusing on her magical intention, a soft ribbon of light appeared between them. She swept her fingers through the gold and silver mist, sending tingles over her skin. Reaching out, she delicately brushed across his pale brow and watched for any reactions from their magic. It seemed to glow a little brighter, but otherwise there was no noticeable change. Her fingers continued to drift down his face, tracing the curve of his cheek and jawline before coming to a stop on his chin. She could feel the gentlest sigh of his breath hot on her finger and momentarily, she forgot about her bond experimentation. Her eyes flicked to his mouth, lips parted and relaxed. They were a pale pink color and dreadfully appealing. Light brown bristles framed them, a direct contradiction to the paleness of his other features. She found she liked facial hair on him. Holding her breath, she placed the tip of her finger on his bottom lip. At the contact, their combined magic flared brightly and Hermione gave a yelp and yanked her hand back in shock.

She quickly inspected her fingers for any signs of injury and huffed to find them perfectly normal. It had felt akin to accidentally touching a scalding cauldron. Suspicious her loud outburst had most definitely disturbed her nearby bedfellow, she looked over to find Malfoy’s piercing gaze watching her intently. His face betrayed nothing, prompting a wave of panic in her. His eyes shifted down to the flow of magic pulsing between them, the light illuminating his features. She watched wordlessly as he examined the bond. Carefully, his hand shifted from under the pillow to thread lightly into the shimmering mist. She inhaled sharply at the contact, leaving her stuck between near euphoria and breathlessness. The magic was her physical manifestation and to have him directly touch her magic was nearly indescribable. Intensely curious, she lifted her shaking hand and held it under his. Her fingertips brushed his wrist and his touch mirrored her own. She felt the heat build between their palms and a flush rose to his cheeks. She looked into his eyes, searching. His breath quickened and she felt her blood rush at the dark look in his eyes. Miserably, she pulled her hand back and with a wave extinguished the magic. A long silence stretched between them before he finally spoke.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you what my magic looked like. No surprise that mine is silver and yours is gold. Do you think the Sorting Hat looks at our magic before sorting us?” He remarked dryly.

“I’m not sure actually. Personally, I think it would be interesting information to have. I have always wondered how the Sorting Hat makes a decision like that, especially one that essentially directs our education and social lives for seven years.” She answered, “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. I know I would have been curious myself if our situations were switched.”

“Well, that is interesting. We’ve found something you don’t know.” He teased, raising up on his side, “No need to apologize. Our magic is already partially entangled, I would have seen it eventually. I am just surprised you are able to manifest it so easily. It’s not so simple to physically pull your magic out like that. Although, you were able to subconsciously attack with it last night, so I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.”

Hermione cringed in response. It would definitely take some time to magically repair all the damage she had caused.

“So, are we going to talk about what just happened or what happened last night?” he asked gruffly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Because I have several questions.”

Hermione didn’t particularly want to talk about the contents of her nightmare, especially the darker aspects, but knew eventually she’d need to address it. She sighed and settled into the soft bed. If she was going to talk about such unpleasant things, she might as well be physically comfortable.

“I assume you want to know what I dreamed?” she ventured, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

He nodded in response.

“I dreamt I was back at Malfoy Manor being tortured. Only instead of Bellatrix, it was you.” She whispered, the despair creeping back into her veins.

“Well…” he sighed, “I can see why that would cause all this and why you would be hesitant to speak with me about it.”

She groaned as he accurately gauged her reluctance to broach the subject.

“I didn’t know I was capable of doing that, so I can’t very well explain it.” she insisted, “But I assume it has something to do with Cerridwen.”

“You are probably correct in that assumption.” He smirked, “Next, how come your dreaming of me? Regardless of context.”

She bolted upright and rounded on him, daggers in her eyes.

“Malfoy!” she gaped, “Of all the questions you could ask, that’s your follow-up to all this?”

“Can you blame me Granger?” he replied simply, amusement in his eyes, “It’s not very often a charming witch admits to dreaming of you.”

Of all the responses that Hermione guessed would ever come from Draco Malfoy’s mouth, that decidedly was NOT one of them.

“You think I’m charming?” she quipped, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

“Stay on topic Granger.” He chided playfully, “I believe I asked you something first.”

“Ugh. Fine.” She snapped, “You weren’t physically hurting me, but the words you spoke hurt much worse than the cuts and spells. You called me weak, disgusting, and pathetic. You said _how could someone like me ever sully themselves with something so beneath them_?” She explained, her voice faint.

The light smile dropped from him face. He heaved himself up into a sitting position and shifted towards her, running his hand through his hair in irritation. Hermione watched patiently as he appeared to go through a variety of emotions before he finally spoke.

“Hermione,” he pressed gently, “I am not that person anymore. I am unaware when my mindset began to shift, but it changed nonetheless. I made some exceptionally deplorable decisions that I will carry for the remainder of my life. I am a damaged individual, but I am hoping to at least right some of the wrongs I’ve committed. I certainly don’t believe you are beneath me or that you could ever sully me. If anything, I am the one who is sullying you.” He finished with a bitter tone.

Hermione’s heart ached for him. She knew her mind had been in a dark place and that was no fault of his. He had shown her nothing but comfortable respect since they had arrived, save for his usual pompous snark. She didn’t think it fair to drag him down with such thoughts. She slipped her hand across the bed and lightly grasped his hand.

“I don’t believe that for one second.” She assured, “It was just a horrible nightmare. I don’t honestly think you capable of saying such cruel things or wanting to hurt me.”

He merely stared at her hand wrapped around his, seemingly baffled by the gesture or her words. She once again was unable to tell what was going on in that head of his, but she hoped he believed her. He looked up, a relieved expression on his face.

“Can you explain what happened this morning? With the magic?” he asked, his curiosity returned.

Hermione laughed softly.

“It appears your mind never stops questioning like mine.” she joked, “I was curious if the bond reacted to different types of touch.”

“Experimenting on me while I sleep?” he intoned, his voice neutral, “Now that’s just bad manners. Next time, just ask.”

“I’m sorry, I should have asked your permission first.” She mumbled, ashamed of her rude behavior.

“Apology accepted. So, what did you find out?” he inquired, his fingers beginning to ghost idly over hers.

She watched as he traced random patterns into her skin and felt a low hum inside. She swallowed loudly, finding her throat suddenly dry.

“Our combined magic appears to react slightly whenever we touch, but nothing terribly noticeable. I presumed that if the touch were a bit more, uh, personal, the magic would react stronger.” She murmured, slightly terrified of his reaction.

His eyebrow arched, but Hermione wasn’t sure if it was in intrigue or consternation at her admission. He gave her a critical look, waiting for her to continue.

“I traced your face with my finger, gauging the result.” She hesitated, her face flaring in embarrassment.

“And?” he urged, tightening his grip on her hand.

“I-I got to your chin and got distracted thinking about how I was surprised that you had dark facial hair despite everything else being blonde.” She stammered, “I wanted to, uh, touch y-your. Sweet Merlin! Why is this so hard to say!?” she cried in frustration, attempting to wrest her hand from his hold.

The look in his eyes were downright glacial. Before she could process it, he yanked her roughly towards him. His grasp still tight on her as his cheek came to rest on hers. She could feel the heat of his breath tickle her ear and her chest constricted in fear mixed with a flash of something much more primal.

“What did you want to touch?” he growled, a warning low in his voice that spread like fire in her veins, “Tell me, Hermione.”

She whimpered at his demand.

“Your lips.” She whispered, “I wanted to touch your lips.”

She shivered when he released a soft laugh that shifted her curls. He tilted his head down as if to murmur into the curve of her neck.

“And what then?” he questioned slowly, his words conjuring goosebumps on her skin.

She could have sworn she felt their bond flashing, twisting, and coiling deep within. An ache that was both delicious and painful which escalated the longer their contact was maintained. His hold on her wrist lessened and began sliding up the bare skin of her arm.

“The magic flared.” She blurted out, her mind too focused on his agonizingly gentle touch.

“It seems to me,” he murmured, “That the bond is seeking more connection. Something of a more intimate nature.”

Her mind instantly went fuzzy and she thought she might internally combust at the thoughts of sharing something of a “more intimate nature” with Malfoy. He dropped his hand from her arm and gently pulled his face away. For the briefest moment, his lips ghosted against the corner of her lips.

Instantly, she was transported back to that starry ceiling back in Malfoy Manor. Only this time, it held nothing but awe and delight as celestial bodies sparkled across her vision. Fireballs thundered above an inky darkness and a kaleidoscope of dusty, cosmic colors swirled. She inhaled deeply, every breath sweet and fulfilling. The bond roared in joy, secretly urging for more. Promising some great secret, like she was Pandora opening that forbidden box.

Feeling the bed shift violently, she blinked back to reality. Malfoy was panting an arm’s length away from the bed, hunched over with clenched fists. Lifting a trembling hand to her chest to steady her breathing, she stared up in confusion.

“What on Circe’s green Earth was that!?” she gasped out.

Pushing sweat-soaked hair off his face, he stood up straight and fixed her with a haughty glare.

“A more personal touch.” He shot back then marched from the bedroom leaving a trail of dust in his wake.


	20. The Other Side

**Chapter 20 – The Other Side**

_A/N: I hope y’all like the direction this chapter goes. The response to Ch. 19 (Searing) was incredible and I felt like the original plan I had sorted out for Ch. 20 just didn’t fit with how the storyline was progressing. However, I’m not super happy with how this chapter came out. It went through several revisions and I’m still salty about it. Maybe the next chapter will feel more natural. - delphicpigeon_

* * *

_The briefest of touches traced his face and he smiled at the familiarity of it. It reminded him of childhood summer mornings at the Manor when his mother would personally wake him with a tray of carefully arranged breakfast and steaming tea. The morning light was pressing through his eyelids, urging him to wake up. Curiously, the touch stopped on his chin and scratched across his stubbled cheeks. He could picture his mother’s lips pursed in disapproval at his lack of grooming. She had tutted during his pubescent years, urging his father to teach him the proper shaving spell muttering under her breath about “cleanliness” and “manners”._

_Something in the back of his mind, however, objected to this vision. His mother had never actually seen him with facial hair. Not since he had left the Manor. He wasn’t at the Manor. So who was touching his face so tenderly? Before he could consider further, it brushed across his bottom lip and ignited his skin._

Instantly awake, Draco opened his eyes cautiously to find Hermione sitting across from him on the bed carefully inspecting her hands. A soft light caught his eye and he looked down to see a gold and silver mist floating lazily between them. A thin stream of liquid silver floated from the center of his chest while an opposing golden fog flowed from hers. She seemed either completely oblivious or uninterested by the pulsing magic between them. Rather than make assumptions, he chose to wait until she noticed his alert gaze.

As she tucked her hands into her lap, she glanced towards him and her eyes widened slightly. When she said nothing, his eyes dropped to the glowing mist and an immense desire to reach out flowed through him. Bracing himself, he lifted a hand towards the haze of magic. He wasn’t sure if Granger knew that magical manifestation on this level was a particularly advanced piece of magic to summon nor if she was aware just how personal it was to reveal or even touch the true nature of a witch’s or wizard’s magic to one another.

As his fingers made contact, he heard her inhale sharply while the fragile bond flared brightly. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, he could imagine his father’s face contorting in utter disbelief in witnessing his son and only heir touching the magic of a Muggleborn. He wondered if the interaction was affecting her as deeply. His eyes flicked up to see her nearly panting with flushed cheeks. Draco’s mind darkened with desire at the knowledge that he was responsible for her intense reaction. He twined his fingers deeper into the magic and her eyes opened in surprise. She looked down at his hand and slowly lifted her own hand to mirror his. As he paused his hand’s movement, he felt a rush as her fingertips slowly probed his own magic. He was surprised to find a balance within that moment. Their hands equally entangled in each other’s magic, their magic flowing effortlessly between. There was no pull or push, no fighting for dominance. Their magic was more at ease with each other then they were themselves, he thought with a snort. The longer they stayed connected, the more a breathless heat begin to build.

Looking hard into her eyes, she chewed on her bottom lip as her pupils dilated. Draco felt his pulse quicken realizing she was nearly feverish with desire as he was. She seemed to pick up on this and quickly withdrew her hand, extinguishing the manifested magic. He sighed internally and mentally prepared himself for whatever reasoning she could provide for this morning and last night’s bouts of unexpected magic.

However, he was not prepared for what she had to say. She had truly seen him as her captor and torturer, speaking degrading and ruthless words. His heart sank knowing that her mind thought him capable of such cruelty. The bitter thoughts soured in his mouth as his mind drifted back to the words his mind had screamed that previous evening.

_A horrible bond mate. You can’t even touch her without her thinking you are attempting to attack her. She still recoils from you in fear regardless._

Even her unconscious mind considered him dangerous. Slowly, he felt a rage building at his ability to destroy everything he touched. He tried to shrug off her words but his mind latched on like a demon, playing them over and over. Not even teasing her could pull his mind from the sad words that had fallen from her lips. He explained that he wasn’t an unbending blood purist anymore. That, if anything, he was a filthier creature than he had previously considered her to be. He could see pity written across her face, but he didn’t want pity. He wasn’t something to be pitied. He was a monster. He wished she would be angry with him, to lash out, or anything to ease the immense guilt he felt.

Yet, she surprised him by vehemently denying him capable of such actions. He blinked quickly, unable to fully comprehend her words. She gave such kindness without expectation, that he could only gaze back in confusion. He was even more surprised when she reached across and gently laid her hand on his. Not wanting to dwell too long on this, he pressed on and questioned her intently on the shock that had originally woke him.

“Can you explain what happened this morning? With the magic?”

He was equally amused and concerned at her hesitant behavior. This indicated, as with all Gryffindors, that she had done something she found to be morally questionable. Her invasion of his personal space, however innocent, had irked him somewhat but he found her genuinely remorseful of her action so he chose to ignore it for now. As she explained, he found himself fascinated by the close ease of their hands. Her hands sat comfortably in his, small and slender. He felt a stab of possessiveness and fear, as if suddenly terrified to let go of her. He gently curled his hand around hers and used his other hand to absentmindedly drag his fingertips across the back of her hand. He thought absurd thoughts, of how his tainted and guilty hands were fortunate enough to hhld her unblemished and courageous ones. He thought of how privileged he should be to be in this moment when her words abruptly brought his thoughts to a standstill.

“…the touch a bit more, uh, personal…” he heard, his eyes becoming unfocused as he processed her admission.

His mind reeled. A more personal touch. What in Merlin’s name was she going on about? She has been experimenting with their bond. Playing with his magic such clinical detachment that he felt a level of betrayal and embarrassment he couldn’t quite put into words. Was he truly alone in his feelings for her, he wondered critically.

Of course he was! How could Hermione Granger, vessel of the ancient goddess Cerridwen, brightest witch of her age, one-third of the Golden Trio ever have genuine feelings beyond polite concern for Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, descendant of a renowned and unsullied blood purist lineage and unofficial Prince of Slytherin. His rage returned in full force and he hated himself for hoping for something other than contempt and expectations, something he had known his whole life. His hand tightened in anger when she struggled to answer his questions. When she stuttered and tried to pull away from him, all tenderness evaporated and was replaced with hard suspicion.

“What did you want to touch….Tell me, Hermione.”

He hated how her name felt on his tongue. He hated that his self-loathing was directed at her. He hated how despite her evident indifference, he still wanted her. He yanked her body close, resting his cheek against hers while savoring the heat radiating from her. After living in a drafty Manor and the coolness of the Slytherin common room, located under the murky Black Lake, he craved her warmth and tried to savor every moment before it was no longer possible to experience.

“Your lips.” She whispered and he stifled a groan at the base implication of that answer.

He laughed softly in an attempt to cover the rush of longing threatening to overwhelm him, burying further into her curls. She shuddered at his proximity and he felt their bond curling around every whisper of flared emotion. It became too much and he lessened his hold on her hand. Without thinking, he slid the back of two fingers up the silky skin of her arm and reveled in the feel of it. He knew this wasn’t just their bond pushing such explosive feelings to the surface, but he couldn’t determine whether she felt the same or not. He felt the quicksilver of his magic flickering, encouraging him to take a leap of faith. He dropped his wandering hand and pulled back. Taking a calming breath, he sat back slowly and pressed the softest graze across her lips.

He was certainly no stranger to kissing, but this shadow of a kiss was more explosive than any touch he had ever experienced. His vision was blurred as he fell through space and time. He saw the universe explode and expand in a fiery bang with her as the end point. It was always her. She could bring about the end of the world or she could be its reckoning grace. She was Persephone, capable of great feats of wrath or raw displays of tenderness. He was her Hades, God of the Underworld. He finally understood what Cerridwen had tried to show him on that stormy lake shore. It was one thing to privately admit he cared for her deeply, but it was something entirely different to experience it firsthand. Frightened of these newfound feelings and of sharing them with someone he had previously sworn to hate with his entire being, he jerked back and bolted off the bed.

She fixed him with a wild look, like a deer caught in the woods. It felt all too predatory and he backed away in an effort to hide his shaking. The room was stifling and he felt sweat beading on his brow. He heard her exclaim in annoyed concern, but he couldn’t process the magical burning that was threatening to consume him. He grasped for words and could only recall her words that had spurred this entire outburst.

“A more personal touch.” He croaked out before fleeing the room as quickly as his legs would carry him.

* * *

Hermione sat absolutely still, her mouth agape as she watched Malfoy’s retreating form. She had already played the morning’s events in her mind several times and to her great frustration, had found no valid logical explanation for what had happened. Unanswered questions danced behind her eyes.

_Was that a kiss or just an accident? Why on Earth was Malfoy acting so strangely? Why had the bond reacted so fiercely?_

She groaned in irritation. She needed something to distract her and a quick glance of her surroundings reminded her that the bedroom was still in tatters. Tossing the comforter off her too warm body, she stretched and plodded over to the broken armoire. She gently pulled the hanging door to the side to reach her clothes when the door popped off with a loud crack and crashed to the floor. She stared at the armoire door, her lip trembling, before she burst into tears. She sunk to the floor, down feathers shifting softly away from her. She wasn’t quite sure why she was crying but she felt so overwhelmed and alone. Her magic sparked lightly as the tears fell unburdened to the wooden floor.

“Why is this happening to me!?” she cried out desperately, somehow hoping Cerridwen or something would suddenly appear and give her all the answers, “I’m nobody! I’m just some Muggleborn witch who happened to be in just the right location where Harry Potter happened to find me. Any other witch could have been in my place. I’m not special. I’m not ‘the brightest witch of my age’ or some ‘Gryffindor Princess’. I don’t want this!”.

She continued sobbing til her eyes refused to drop another tear. She sat on the floor sniffling, dreading getting up but she was starting to lose feeling in her legs from the awkward position she dropped to. Looking up at the armoire, she wobbled upwards while rubbing her knees and reached for some dress robes. Once dressed and her increasingly long hair braided into a single thick strand, she turned back to the bedroom and began repairing everything.

She replaced the hinges on the armoire door, vanished the down feathers and shattered glass, and patched the cracked headboard. She had a more difficult time removing the scorch marks from the ceiling. She assumed they were magical burns, rather than physical burns. After several efforts, the charring had disappeared, leaving only a slightly darker coloration on the beams.

Now that the room was habitable once more, she plopped down on the bed in exhaustion. She frowned up at the ceiling. A couple magical cleaning and repairing spells shouldn’t be putting that much strain on her magical reserves. Maybe, she reasoned, she hadn’t recovered from her magical outburst that night. She also noticed slight changes in her physical appearances that seemed to defy any reasoning, like the unnatural growth of her hair.

_“You know why. You just refuse to acknowledge it.” Came an amused voice._

“Of course I refuse to acknowledge it. Its absurd.” She replied tartly.

_“You’ve been alone in this semi-bonded state and you’ll waste away.” She simply responded, “The boy feels the bond more intensely. Do you enjoy putting him in pain?”_

“No, of course I don’t! What a cruel thing to ask?” Hermione snapped.

_“Isn’t it more cruel to continue to deny your feelings for him?” the voice asked._

“Those feelings are merely a by-product of the bond.” She sputtered in exasperation.

_“Are they?” the voice quipped._

“I can’t have feelings for Draco Malfoy!” Hermione shrieked.

_“Why not? He has them for you.” Cerridwen stated, their tone haughty._

That brought Hermione’s train of thought to a screeching halt.

“He does?” she squeaked out, “How can you be sure?”

Hermione felt Cerridwen’s indignation flare, a physical crackle vibrating through the air as the hair on her skin rose in warning.

_“You dare question me child. You have access to the great secrets of the universe and a fount of power and wisdom, yet you focus on the irrelevant bond between myself and my husband-consort. The Fallen Prince, the one you call Draco Malfoy, is also a vessel. Without him, you will cease to exist. Without completing that bond, the consequences are unimaginable and directly affects how magic manifests for all magical beings. Too long you’ve ignored our powers and its draining faster than you can replenish it. You have the ability to read our ancient runes. Stop squandering the magical future because you are holding onto useless and outdated blood and magic views.” She finished._

The magic settled once again, leaving Hermione shaking and terrified by the torrent of information Cerridwen had just unleashed upon her. An ancient goddess had just accused her on holding onto blood purist ideals while her reluctance to seal the bond also potentially meant the end of magical access for many witches, wizards, and creatures. Could her burden be any heavier, she wondered sadly.

Although, Cerridwen had told her that she wouldn’t be alone. He could share that burden with her, but she still struggled at the thought of forcing that bond on him. Despite the urging, she didn’t believe that Draco could possibly have genuine feelings for someone like her. She shook her head, too disoriented and exhausted to consider Cerridwen’s words further. She closed her eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.


	21. New Friends, Old Habits

**Chapter 21 – New Friends, Old Habits**

_A/N: Slight departure from the original storyline, specifically in this middle section, may result in a few extra chapters being added onto the final chapter tally. I should technically be in June by now [based on my master plotline], but we have just barely gotten to April-ish. However, I feel like I’m back on track with my writing/muses from last week and I adore how this chapter came out. Word to the wise - middle story writing is rough._

* * *

Draco stomped angrily down the stairs, muttering at Granger’s behavior. She could be so irritatingly obtuse and stubborn. He stopped by the kitchen, briefly considering boiling some water for a soothing cup of tea but quickly decided he didn’t want to spend one more minute inside that blasted cottage. He snatched his cloak from the door hook and threw it over his shoulders in a single fluid motion that would have put his godfather to shame.

The sun blinded him with its midday glare and he promptly realized it was warm. Too warm for the thick cloak. Spring was in full swing and he wondered how it had passed him by. Grunting in annoyance, he yanked the fabric off and plopped down on a unsplit cut of firewood. Dropping his head into his hands, he glared at the ground.

“Bloody Granger.” He seethed, digging his boots into the ground, “Bloody Cerridwen.”

Watching an insect crawl its way across the soil, Draco was soon lost in his thoughts.

_What had he done? Had he kissed her or more importantly, did she think he kissed her? He had been enraged at her clinical approach to their bond, in a way that had been most offensive. He wasn’t the most emotional or romantic wizard out there, but her actions had felt like something akin to a visit with Madam Pomfrey back at Hogwarts. He had felt every fiber of his being reach out for her, in awe of her power. Yet, she had only responded with intense confusion and detachment._

He glanced up towards her bedroom window, a small part of him hoping she’d be there gazing down. He scowled bitterly when he found the frame empty. A chirp distracted him from his musings and he looked down to find the robin that she had supposedly befriended. Hugo, he remembered. Well, Hugo was the name she had made up for the small creature. He gave the bird a small smile and held out his hand gently, encouraging the animal to sit. It puffed up its little feathery chest and gave a squawk, refusing to move from its perch. Draco dropped his palm, the smile dropping from his face.

“Fine then, you little puffball.” He responded, “Got any advice on how to deal with a witch-goddess hybrid who doesn’t seem inclined to reciprocate their feelings?” giving the bird a bemused expression.

The robin, Hugo, hopped a little closer while tilting its light blue and gray head and watched with dark eyes.

“Me either.” He sighed, “I thought woodland creatures were supposed to be helpful.”

Hugo let out a brief chirp, eliciting a small chuckle from Draco.

“My advice,” he added, leaning in towards the bird conspiratorially, “If you encounter one, just fly the other direction.”

A melodic, second chirp drifted from the surrounding forest and Hugo turned towards the sound, twittering in response.

“Sounds like someone needs you.” He mused, while making a shooing gesture towards Hugo, “Better get on then.”

Hugo lifted away and soon disappeared into the freshly green trees, leaving Draco alone once more. He smiled gently into the quiet woods, just simply enjoying the peaceful silence around him. He inhaled deeply, various scents drifting by. The murky depth of the fresh, spring earth. The gentle scent of newly opened wildflowers and unfurled leaves. The nearby musk and tang of animals leaving their homes after months of hibernation. He swore he could even smell the crisp flow of the nearby stream. He found it odd how deeply connected he felt to this place. The woods gave no ounce of menace. He had sought its solace many times. The trees held no judgment of him, no contempt.

He thought back to when he had trudged through these silent sentries to remove the Mark once and for all. It caught him off guard to realize they would have been his final witnesses to the world had Hermione and Cerridwen not saved him. He looked around and released a low breath.

He decided he had sat there long enough, wallowing in some odd sense of misery. There was now a garden to tend to, along with their translation studies that had been neglected as of late. Despite the serenity of their location, the back of his mind always warned that a war was still ongoing. The Dark Lord was still in power, the Order was still in hiding, and, most importantly, Hermione was still in great danger of fatally succumbing to Cerridwen’s power.

He turned towards the garden and its accompanying greenhouse. There were several seedlings in need of pruning and water while the garden beds needed to be tended to. Summoning a nearby shovel, he rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

* * *

Hermione woke up a couple hours later as the sun was beginning to set behind the trees. The dying light cast an orange glow across her room and she sat up with a groan. Her head was aching horribly, no doubt from Cerridwen’s angry outburst earlier. Her mouth was terribly dry and she looked over to find her glass empty. She groaned once more, dreading having to walk downstairs and possibly face Malfoy. She cast a headache relief charm and frowned when it provided no relief. She tried once more and got the same result. Her frowned deepened when she cast an “ _Accio glass_ ’ and the glass remained on dresser, wobbling slightly.

_Was Cerridwen’s warning already coming true? Was she truly squandering her powers as they drained her magical core and, eventually, her life force?_

She shook her head and stood on shaky feet, feeling slightly lightheaded. She realized with a start that she couldn’t quite remember the last time she ate. Grabbing the glass, she padded down the stairs and peeked around to make sure Malfoy wasn’t nearby.

Finding the downstairs empty, she let out a sigh of relief and quickly moved to the kitchen. While she waited impatiently for her food to cook, she peeked over at the table and noticed the stack of books they hadn’t looked over yet. Looking at the titles, she found a thick and rather ornate tome bound in supple leather with shimmering runes on the cover. They wavered gently before stilling and Hermione peered hard at the characters.

_Gospel of the Witches._

Hermione sniffed at the text. The book title suggested some sort of religious connotation and she wondered if it had anything to do with religious persecution of perceived witches, such as the Salem or Pendle Witch Trials. It certainly wasn’t as exciting or intriguing as _Pride & Prejudice, _but she had neglected their studies long enough. She set the book down and finished cooking her food. She placed a fresh glass of water, the book, and her hot dinner on a tray and made to grab the tray when the door opened.

Hermione panicked when Draco entered and begin removing his boots, seemingly unaware of her presence. She tried to pick up the platter as quietly as possible but the clatter of silverware gave her away. Malfoy’s head snapped up, his blond hair plastered to his forehead. Hermione let out a stuttered breath as her eyes made contact with his.

His face was flushed and covered in a light sheen. Sweat ringed the collar of his shirt while his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms. Her eyes trailed to his arms and she had to stifle a groan at how unreasonably attractive he was. His eyes narrowed as she stood there motionless, only the sound of breathing and shaking dinnerware between them. He straightened up, his boots’ laces half undone, and fixed her with an irritated glare.

Hermione managed to squeak out a petrified ‘ _sorry_ ’ before she bolted up the stairs, water sloshing carelessly onto her plate. She ran into the bedroom, carelessly plunked down the tray, and swiftly locked the door behind her. She placed her ear to the door, listening for Malfoy’s footsteps to follow. When none came, she released and breath and shuffled over to her rapidly cooling dinner.

She gasped when she realized that some water had splashed on the cover of the old book.

“Oh! No no no.” She cried, gently lifting the text and inspecting for damage. “Bloody Malfoy! He could have waited two seconds and I would have been out of the room!”

She successfully cast a gentle drying charm and was relieved to find the book unmarked. She looked at her dinner and found her appetite had disappeared. She sighed dejectedly and cast a statis charm on the food, hoping her hunger might return. Luckily, her nausea and lightheadedness had disappeared for now. She took a couple sips of water, grateful for the pure liquid that flowed from their faucet. She flicked her finger to light the beside lantern and yelped in fear when the flame flared brightly, several feet tall.

The flame engulfed the entire lantern while threatening to scorch the ceiling and Hermione let out a small shriek before waving her hand again to extinguish the fire. Luckily, the motion worked and the flame disappeared. The lantern sat blackened with ash but relatively unharmed, the glass still in one piece. She grimaced and decided maybe she should hold off on using elemental-based magic for now. She rummaged through the bedside dresser for a box of matches and lit the lantern manually. Taking another sip of water, she crawled into bed and pulled the _Gospel of the Witches_ into her lap.

Flipping briefly through the book, she saw several illustrations, lists, and diagrams. All in runes and not just regular runes, magical runes. She frowned as they wavered like a field of grass and she sighed heavily. Magical runes required a magical price. She could only read what she could give. It looked like this book would take its time revealing itself to her, draining her magic with each runic transformation. Thumbing back to the beginning, she readjusted the pillow behind her and set to work.

* * *

Draco blinked as Hermione raced up the stairs and slammed the door shut, completely perturbed by her evasive reaction. He sat in silence for a couple moments before he leaned over and resumed untying his shoes. After kicking his boots to the side, he sauntered to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of cool water. Drinking deeply, he leaned heavily against the counter and groaned tiredly.

He wasn’t a complete stranger to manual labor, his hunting days and more recent fire chopping days had built up his tolerance. However, he found true gardening to be much more exhausting than the simple pruning and weeding he had done with his mother. The house elves had been responsible for that sort of work, their magic not hindered by elemental laws. Elves could manipulate earth, water, air, and fire in a way that witches and wizards could not.

He had attempted to move the soil himself but found he could work quicker by non-magical means. If anything, after a nice, long bath, he could slip into an uninterrupted sleep and avoid any further awkward interactions that evening. A lot more work had to be done in both the garden and greenhouse, not to mention restocking their dwindling firewood pile.

Yes, he concluded, he had plenty of things to keep himself out of Granger’s way. He fixed a quick dinner and mentally made a note to remind himself to set some traps the following morning. Their meat supply was nearly gone along with their original food reserves. He guessed their food supply would be dangerously low by the time they could begin harvesting food and herbs. Yet, he was confident they’d make it til then. He remembered how gaunt the Golden Trio had been, more specifically Potter and Hermione, when they were brought to the Manor. There had been a thin sharpness to her features that he could only assume was prolonged hunger.

He shook his head and returned back to the reality. He found he didn’t much like dwelling on any memories of Malfoy Manor, except for those of his mother. He thought if he ever returned to that place, he would raze it to the ground in a most spectacular fashion and rebuild from scratch. He would save a few precious family heirlooms along with the private Malfoy library collection, but everything else could burn for all he cared. Long, empty hallways and looming, dark rooms held no interest to him. He had felt more at home in the Slytherin common room than he had at Malfoy Manor. Hell, this cottage had been warmer and more welcoming than Malfoy Manor. He snorted rudely, imagining of his mother’s aghast expression at the Malfoy scion slumming it up in a muddy field and dirt smeared on his aristocratic features. Pushing his hair from his face and away from the counter, Draco sauntered to the bathroom and ran a much-needed bath.

An hour later, freshly scrubbed and his muscles aching tenderly, he dropped unceremoniously on his chair and summoned both a glass of water and a random book from the haphazard stack on the table. A thin, black journal filled with thick, vellum pages zoomed across the room and landed tidily in his lap. He looked down at the cover and sighed testily, realizing the text was in another language. He waved a language indicator incantation over the book’s title and grunted when the spell revealed the text to be in Middle Welsh. He felt it interesting that the spell indicated a particular age for the language but determined that would probably be helpful in deciphering the text. He summoned their assortment of translators texts, scowling when he found none for Middle Welsh specifically. He scoffed internally knowing he shouldn’t have hoped it would be that easy.

He thought about the Welsh language’s roots and selected Latin, Old Irish, and modern Welsh primers. The Welsh plus the other two languages were as close to accurately translating Middle Welsh as he was going to get. Grabbing a quill and some parchment, he spread out the journal and subsequent language primers and set to work. Periodically, he got up to refill his water or stoke the fire. The translation process was excruciatingly slow and he had only managed to transcribe and roughly translate a couple pages or so. He stared down at the choppy translations and threw the quill down in frustration. At this rate, they’d never get anything accomplished and Hermione might perish in the meantime.

Dropping his head into his heads, his eyes begin to sting with frustrated tears. Sniffing angrily, he roughly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and snapped the journal shut. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get any more work done this evening and a quick glance at the window indicated it was well beyond dark. Draining the remnants of his water, he extinguished the kitchen lamps and went to the couch. He cast a Cushioning Charm and transfigured a pillow and blanket while making sure the fire was properly contained. Draco removed his clothes and gently folded them while clad only in his boxers and settled beneath the blanket. With his arm draped casually above him while the other arm absentmindedly traced patterns on the couch’s fabric, he watched the embers of the fire pop and flicker before he drifted into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.


	22. Aradia

**Chapter 22 - Aradia**

_A/N: I’m taking some liberties between the Cerridwen mythos, ancient texts’ contents, and Welsh lore._

* * *

Without flashes of dark curls flying around the corner, the quick slam of a door, or fresh flowers alternating in the kitchen vase, Draco could have sworn Hermione was a ghost. It had been nearly two weeks since she had become a recluse. No sounds came from her room. She seemed to only be active while he was out in garden or asleep late at night. At first he hadn’t minded, understanding that she needed space to process whatever it had been that passed between them. However, as the tenth or so day passed without a living sign of her, his patience had worn thin. He wasn’t sure if she was eating, sleeping, or how her magic was faring.

He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that she was grower weaker, but at the same time, their connection had been relatively haywire since the pseudo-kiss. The normally comforting white noise that settled deep in his spine had morphed into loud static, clouding any true indication of her well-being. Slamming his hands down on the greenhouse’s counter, Draco released an angry huff. If she didn’t appear soon, he would have to seek her out and shake some sense into that stubborn head of hers.

Clapping his hands together, he turned back to the seedlings before him. Most of them were doing extraordinarily well, but some seemed to be dying quicker than others. He took a quick survey of the greenhouse’s contents and estimated the majority of them appeared in solid condition. A flash of dark green caught his eye and he moved some containers to find a handful of moldy plant lumps hidden in a shady corner. Frowning at the rate of decay before him, he hastily reached over and removed the diseased plants.

An interesting thought entered his mind as he dumped the container’s contents on the ground and set to re-enter the greenhouse. He stopped, thinking back to the previous evening’s translation work. The small journal, or the _Black Book of Carmarthen_ he had ultimately deciphered, turned out to be a collection of Welsh mythology and ancient sagas. It had been in rough condition along with several pages pockmarked with holes and water damage. The book had made some mentions of the ancient sorcerer, Merlin. A fact that had fascinated Draco considerably.

He had just finished a particular poem that had briefly mentioned Cerridwen and her “ _great and terrible powers of the Earth used during the Battle of Llongborth_ ”. He thought it interesting that such a being should only be mentioned in passing, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if Merlin had tried to suppress any mention of creatures more powerful than him. Draco had not cared for the fantastical tales of Merlin as a child. He found the warlock’s myth to be full of self-importance, favoritism, and ambiguity.

_Much like Dumbledore_ , he thought with a snort of amusement. This notion was immediately accompanied by a sense of deep sadness. He wondered if the wizard would be alive today if it hadn’t been for him. His godfather had ended up killing the man instead to save him from the Dark Lord’s terrible wrath. Shaking the melancholy thoughts from his head, Draco recalled the passage regarding Cerridwen.

He had found the particular mention “ _of Earth_ ” particularly intriguing. It seemed to suggest some form of elemental magic, which wasn’t far off from the display of elemental magic Hermione was capable of. The book had made no other mention of her and Draco found that off-putting. For a powerful goddess to be so casually erased from the storyline felt very suspicious to him. He wondered idly if Hermione had the ability to control all the elements, something unheard of in the wizarding world. In order to find out, that meant he’d have to approach her first. Sighing in irritation, he re-entered the greenhouse and resumed inspecting the bright green sprouts before him.

A couple hours later, he exited the greenhouse covered in a fine coat of sweat. It was becoming unbearably hot inside the greenhouse, especially during the middle of the day. He walked over to the freshly tilled beds, his arms full of prepared plants. Setting them down gently, Draco picked up a thick stick and began punching holes in the dark mounds to transplant the garden. He stopped and looked up towards her window, feeling the distinct sensation of being watched.

His eyes widened as he caught sight of the spectre before him. Hazel locked briefly with silver before she vanished out of view. He grimaced, caught off guard at her sudden appearance. She looked horribly thin, a deep and exhausted expression written across her pale face. Her hair had hung dark and limp at her sides. Her arms had been wrapped tightly around her as if she were trying to warm herself. Her eyes looked swollen and raw. He let his gardening tool drop to the side as he rushed towards the cottage.

Kicking off his boots while casting a hasty cleansing spell, he sprinted up the stairs, strode across the hallway, and kicked the door open to find her pressed against the wall like a frightened animal.

* * *

Hermione woke to a heavy weight on her chest. She swatted at object in irritation.

_Get down Crookshanks,_ she grumbled, _You aren’t a kitten anymore._

Her eyes snapped open as she remembered that Crookshanks wasn’t with her, but back at the Burrow. When Harry, Ron, and her had left the Burrow, she had had to leave her beloved half-kneazle behind. She pushed the object off, a book she finally realized, with a forceful shove. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to stem the stream of tears building. She was tired of crying. Every morning she had woke, reminded of some memory or face, and cried without abandon. She just didn’t have the energy to shed another, laying in the bed til her face burned.

She let her head drop to the side to find it was nearly midday. Another day of translation, of pouring her magic into that greedy book, and of avoiding her cottage companion. He had surprisingly respected her distance and she was thankful for the space. While he was out working the garden, she’d quietly stand at the window and observe him. It warmed her heart how much effort he put into that little plot of land, which had shocked her as well. She would have never figured Draco Malfoy for having a legitimate green thumb. She had been mildly interested at the speed in which he grew the tender plants, but just shrugged it off as magic. Her mind, when it wasn’t emotionally sabotaging her, was fixated on the contents of that damned book.

The Gospel of the Witches appeared to be semi-sentient. The book refused to reveal more than it wanted, no matter how much magic she poured into. It spoke in riddles, told half-truths, and purposefully stopped mid-sentence as if to deter Hermione from understanding the texts. The most infuriating aspect of this book was its blasted ability to keep her from taking notes. No sooner than Hermione had placed a quill to parchment to transcribe the book’s contents to find her ink had vanished completely, only to reappear when she burned up both the parchment and quill in anger. Luckily, she had a nearly photographic memory but not even she could mentally store that volume of information accurately.

The book read like the Christian Bible, with themes of oppression, a messiah figure, and Paradise. She had sneered when she noticed the similarities, her initial judgement of the book’s title partially accurate. The book had spoken in depth of the goddess, Aradia. She was known by many names, the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith, age-old queen of many splendid kingdoms, and the first known source of magic and knowledge. The book did not outright mention Cerridwen, but deep down, she knew Aradia was Cerridwen. In her previous accusations against Hermione, Cerridwen had claimed to have “ _access to the great secrets of the universe and a fount of power and wisdom_ ” and “ _directly affects how magic manifests for all magical beings_ ”.

If Aradia was known as the first source of magic, it was safe to assume Cerridwen was just another name used throughout the ages of magic. Just as Romans and Greeks had different names for the gods and goddesses of the pantheon, so it would be with Cerridwen.

Hermione rolled over to face the window, exhaustion set deep in her bones. She could barely leave the bed these past days, her magic spent while leaving her physically drained as well. Her diet had been dismal at best, many of her meals simple with little nourishment so she could avoid spending too much time downstairs. The clothes Mrs. Malfoy had packed for her were beginning to hang off her thin frame and her hair had lost its luster. Inwardly, she knew she couldn’t keep this routine up much longer.

Heaving herself up slowly, her arms shaking from the effort. Fully upright, she pushed off the bed and shuffled towards the window. She assumed Draco was below, tending to the garden. Watching him brought her some sort of solace. It was so simple and natural without the pressure of being in his presence. She sighed softly when his form came into view.

He was hunched over and kneeling on the soft ground while lovingly placing seedlings into the ground. She smiled gently at the scene. The sun was reflecting off his hair, throwing off a golden sheen. She pursed her lips as she watched his shoulder muscles ripple under his thin shirt as he worked the dark, rich soil. He stood up, dusting his hands off on his pants and began to survey the scene before him. She watched him reach down, pick up a stick, and began pushing it into the soil. She reveled in the quiet reverence of it all.

Without warning, his head snapped up and connected line of sight with her. Taking a gasping breath, she stood still in shock before abruptly jerking backwards out of view. Gripping her shirt tightly, she huffed heavily. Hearing a faint clatter, she creeped over to the window and peeked out of the corner to find the garden plot empty. She groaned inwardly and backed away from the window, pressing herself into a corner of the room as she heard his heavy footsteps barrel up the staircase. She only had a second’s warning before the door blasted open, revealing a very red-faced Draco Malfoy.

* * *

“What in Merlin’s name is going on with you Granger?!” he snapped forcefully, “You look like shite.”

She continued to cower against the wall, refusing to speak with eyes the size of saucers. He sighed in irritation and pushed back his sweat-soaked hair.

“Look Granger…I mean Hermione.” He corrected gently, “I didn’t mean to startle you, but you’ve been hiding in this room going on two weeks and honestly, no offense, but you look about as bad as when you arrived at the Manor. All bones and vacant eyes, like a shade of yourself.”

Her eyes flashed fiercely for a brief moment before narrowing into slits with lips pressed tight together. He took a couple unsteady steps forward, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Are you eating enough? Or sleeping?” he prodded, shuffling towards her slowly.

She gave a curt nod and shifted to grasp her knees to her chest. Draco’s heart broke at the sight of her. She looked so frail and worn. He felt a bubble of guilt and fury swell inside at knowing it was partially his fault for her current condition. The bubble immediately popped when he also considered that she had caused this entire situation in the first place.

“You…” he started, sighing heavily, “You can’t keep this up, whatever this is.” He finished with a vague gesture.

He finally reached her and crouched down. Reaching out, he tenderly laid his hand on her slim arm.

“Hermione, I need you here with me.” He confessed quietly, tilting his head slightly, “I can’t do this without you.”

He heard her breath hitch as she lifted her hand to curl around his. She tilted her head to match his, confusion written in her eyes.

“You do?” she whispered, “What could you possibly need me for?”

His brow creased as he pulled his hand from under hers, bringing it up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“If you have to ask, Granger,” he huffed out, “Then nothing I say will make you understand.”

He dropped his hand and looked at her, shivering slightly against the wall. Stuck between weariness and sadness, he stood and began walking away. He couldn’t handle the fear and uncertainly that radiated from her. It further fueled his self-loathing and, once again, proved just how irreconcilable they were. Satisfied she was at the very least still breathing, he withdrew from the room and slowly descended back to the peace the garden afforded him.

* * *

Hermione sat still, breathing heavily, on the floor. His words had shocked her to the core. Had she truly been so indifferent to his feelings? She had always assumed his polite manner had simply been some roundabout Slytherin way to repaying a debt or because of the damned bond. Cursing her brain, she pushed up off the floor and stood awkwardly. Taking a calming breath, she moved towards the armoire and grabbed a thin cloak. Despite the warmth of the midday sun, she felt cold to the bone.

Ambling down the stairs, she gently eased the cottage’s front door open and slipped out towards the garden. Lifting the cloak’s hood to cover her eyes, she huffed. She had barricaded herself inside so long that the sunshine glowed too harshly, her eyes irritated. Stopping to lean against the corner of the cottage, she watched him continued to work the dark earth. She took catalogue of the clump of fresh seedlings sitting on the ground and found her surprised once again at his gardening abilities. Jerking slightly, she realized that if it hadn’t been for his foresight and resolve, they might have starved before the Order came to collect them. She realized abruptly that her survival depended on his perceptive state of mind while she had been obsessing over some ancient, and probably useless, text.

She hadn’t been in the greenhouse since their awkward encounter, allowing him to have that private place to himself. Much like the upstairs bedroom that she had basically turned into her own personal bunker, she thought with a snort. However, she had not expected the snort to physically escape and she instantly clapped her hands over her face with a yelp. Draco stilled and cautiously lifted his head.

“What’s so funny?” he growled.

Hermione dropped her hands and took a wary step forward.

“Nothing!” she replied quickly, too quickly.

His eyes tightened in suspicion as he leaned both arms across the long stick he’d been using. She begin wringing her hands under his scrutinizing gaze.

“If you came out here to laugh at me,” he ground out tersely, “You can just go back to your room.”

He resumed his work, albeit it much more aggressively than before. Hermione winced as he forcefully slammed the stick into the ground.

“I-…” she started, “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was just…thinking about how ridiculous I have been lately. I’ve been so frightened of the changes. Who am I supposed to be? Am I stuck like this forever? I’ve always been the logical one. The level-headed one, but I just feel like I am spiraling out of control. I can’t do this alone.” She finished, nervously picking at her nails.

He stopped mid-work and craned his head towards her, white-blonde locks falling to the side.

“What did you say?” he murmured, straightening up.

Hermione felt her heart stutter at the appearance of his face. He looked wary but something hopeful hovered around the edges of his expression.

“I need you too.”


	23. Conduit

**Chapter 23 - Conduit**

_A/N: It’s another long one and finally some answers to the questions y’all have been asking! Please note that I have no alpha/beta, all grammatical mistakes are my own. - delphicpigeon_

* * *

It took every ounce of Draco’s self-control to keep from running towards her and sweeping her up in his arms. His mind was crowing with exuberance and joy at her admission. It wasn’t an outright declaration but he would take what he could get. His mind hadn’t changed from the moment he drifted in that watery space, promising he would do everything possible to be worthy of her. If it meant taking tiny steps each and every day, he’d resolve to have the patience of a saint. Well, maybe not a saint. He was no saint, that much was certain. Coughing to hide his excitement, he leaned against his tool and fixed her with an intense look.

“I’m relieved that we are finally on the same page.” He began, “You won’t be in this alone. I know I am not exactly some shining knight in armor, but I can do my best to assist you. However, I don’t think an all-powerful goddess needs a knight to save her.” He finished with a small chuckle.

She groaned in embarrassment at his attempt at humor.

“Honestly, when you think about it,” she continued, a small smile tugging at her lips, “For the past weeks I have been sort of like a princess trapped in a tower who was only rescued because a very angry _knight_ burst through the door and saved me. Coincidentally, I also happened to be my own evil queen, or dragon, depending on which fairytale you think about.”

Draco tilted his head at her words. He wasn’t quite sure what she was going on about, but it was such a great relief to see a genuine smile on her face.

“Well since I’ve got you out here, you can help me with this garden.” He began then paused on seeing her less than stellar condition, “On second thought, why don’t you just keep me company til you’ve regained your strength?”

“Honestly, Draco, I am perfectly fine. I’m just a little tired.” She scoffed, shuffling towards the edge of the garden.

Draco smirked, she looked like she could barely hold a book, let alone manage hard labor. He raised a pale eyebrow and quickly levitated the gardening equipment out of her reach. She sputtered in response, shooting him an incredulous glare.

“That wasn’t up for debate Granger.” He commanded, “Now take a seat while I’ll finishing prepping these rows. You need the fresh air anyways.” He declared while quickly transfiguring a wooden rocking chair from the nearby woodpile with a wordless Cushioning Charm for good measure.

“Fine.” She snapped, dropping onto the chair with a huff.

He snickered internally when she gave a small yip of surprise at the unexpected Cushioning Charm. Her eyes narrowed briefly, but she settled back into the chair without further incident.

“Thank you.” She called out softly as she began lightly rocking back and forth.

“Not a problem.” He responded, “Now let me get back to work. If you need anything else, let me know.”

“I’m not an invalid Malfoy.” She retorted, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.

“Yes, you are.” He argued, straightening his shoulders, “You trapped yourself in that room for two weeks, essentially tortured yourself through starvation and sleep deprivation, and I can detect that your magic levels have been weakened immensely. Any fool who lets their magic drain like that is an invalid. You will sit there while I finish this work and you will tell me if you need anything. Got it?” he ordered, his eyes boring into hers.

Her face flushed slightly before she gave a small nod and dropped her arms back to her lap.

“Good girl.” He teased, giving one last chuckle as her eyes widened comically, before resuming his work.

As he continued to prep the beds and place the fragile seedlings into the ground with the upmost care, he would periodically glance up to check on her. For the first thirty minutes or so, she gently rocked while watching him silently. He noticed out of the corner of his eye, that she was particularly focused on the movement of his hands. In thrall of his soil machinations, she did not initially notice his watchful eye. Eventually, he caught her gaze and she immediately averted her eyes, much to his amusement.

After another half hour or so, he noted her rocking movement had stopped. Taking a brief glimpse, he observed that she had drifted off to sleep, her head tilted down slightly as her hair cascaded across the chair’s arm. Smiling gently, he quietly cast another Cushioning Charm on the top half of the chair and transfigured a small lawn umbrella to shade her against the harsh midday sun. Taking a small break, he fetched two glasses of water and set one down next to her. He cast a quick Stasis Charm to keep the glass cool and as he sipped away his thirst, he took a closer look at her.

He frowned at the withdrawn look of her face, but was relieved to see some color had already returned. His eyes flashed in anger at the thought of some book causing this level of harm, but he was particularly incensed at her for attempting to do this alone. He hadn’t outright admitted the entire spectrum of his feelings to her but he also needed her to understand that their individual survivals were inexplicably dependent on one another. He grimaced at realizing he might need to be a bit more forthright in speaking with her. She might have some Slytherin mannerisms, but she was still a foolhardy and direct Gryffindor. Draining the last of his glass, he exhaled heavily and returned to plant the final sprouts before returning to the greenhouse.

* * *

Hermione awoke with a start as the remnants of a dream faded rapidly from her vision. She frowned, wishing she could remember what she had dreamed when she realized she was not in her room. Looking around, she remembered that Draco had essentially forced her to sit outside in the glaring sun. Not that she had actually truly minded. The warmth of the sun had been welcome and as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She had obsessed over that damned book and she had overlooked the high price it had demanded. Sighing inwardly, she rubbed her neck and was startled to find herself alone.

_After all that nonsense about me being an invalid, he leaves me alone,_ she thought with a snort.

Standing with a stretch, her hands knocked into an unexpected object and she yanked them back in surprise. A thin parasol was floating above her, effectively blocking harmful rays from the sun. She gaped up at the item in astonishment. Taking a cursory glance around, she also noticed a tall glass of water with beads of sweat running down the sides. She muttered under her breath in bewilderment. Reaching down, she grabbed the glass and knocked back its contents. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she had been. Now, that she thought about it, she was absolutely famished. She had been so focused on the book, she hadn’t considered her appetite. Searching for Draco, she saw a flash of movement from inside the greenhouse and was relieved that he was nearby.

_Interesting,_ she mused, _that she should be comforted by his presence._

Shaking her head, she ambled towards the greenhouse and gave a low knock to avoid startling him. He stopped his work and turned to her, unease in his eyes.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything?” he questioned, worry heavy in his voice. “I was afraid to disturb your sleep since you hadn’t gotten much of it lately.”

Something deep down in her responded to his concern, like the plucking of a string to release a single melodic note. It was a pleasant feeling, like the beginning of a beloved song. A song that brought comfort in its familiarity. It reminded her of that day she heard Draco singing. She smiled at the feeling and at him. Maybe one day she’d hear him sing again.

“I’m ok. A little hungry actually.” She answered, leaning against the greenhouse’s doorway, “Thank you for the shade and the water.”

He turned away abruptly and Hermione nearly missed the slight reddening of his face.

“Its not a big deal. Couldn’t have you burning to a crisp in the garden now could we?” he remarked, busying himself with a single, round bud and several nearby containers.

“My skin thanks you.” She mocked, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “What are you working on? That looks too large to be any herb or vegetable.” She questioned, plucking it up in a swift motion.

“It’s a rose, I think.” He indicated, “Found it hidden in the cottage in the back of a drawer. Seems whoever set up this safehouse had an affinity for plants. I don’t have much experience with roses. That was my mother’s specialty.”

Hermione blinked in surprise.

“Were roses her favorite then?” she ventured, hoping the question was not too intrusive.

“Yes.” he sighed, frowning slightly, “She adored roses. They brought her peace during our trials as a family.” He finished bitterly.

“What trials could the Malfoy family possibly endure?” Hermione snarked, “You are in essence Sacred 28 royalty with ample wealth and high societal and political influence. Status, power, and a fortune. Even Muggleborns seek this sort of lifestyle.”

“For all the blather about how pure and fearless Gryffindors are,” he intoned, shooting her a dark look, “You can be painfully dim-witted and inappropriate with your questions. You could do with some lessons in proper decorum.”

She gasped at his words, realizing with some level of shame at how callous and cruel she sounded.

_Hadn’t Cerridwen just warned her of such similar actions? That her thoughts, however righteous she might think them to be, were just the other side of the blood purist coin? She had just condemned the entirety of the Malfoy family without a second thought while she had gushed the idealism of equality and fair treatment since her House Elves effort of Fourth Year?_

“I shouldn’t have said that.” She whispered, picking at her her fingers nervously, “That was terribly insensitive and rude of me.”

“You’d be surprised what our family has endured, not only in this life, but in previous times to survive.” He recalled despondently, “My mother has suffered more than most.”

“Can I ask why?” Hermione pressed, “She basically saved our lives and gave us a chance to survive. As odd as it is to admit, I respect her for that despite my obvious skepticism.”

“One day I’ll tell you, but right now, I’m just not ready to discuss my mother.” He exhaled, “I’d like to get this last seed finished before I retire for the day.” He hinted as he reached his hand out towards the bud she still held in her hand.

She obliged, dropping the round object into his outstretched palm. As his fingers wound around it, Hermione noticed the state of his hand. Blisters were prominent and dirt was embedded in his ragged nails. Her eyes flicked up to his face before dropping back to his hands. He had worked so hard for them both and, in that moment, she realized that she had truly meant what she had said.

_I really do need him,_ she thought, _and he needs me._

“Here,” she said earnestly, “Let me help you finish up. It’s the least I can do.”

* * *

“Alright,” he remarked with a smile, “There is only the one bud and I’d like to be as careful as possible. Could you move the container over here and roughly place two inches of soil in the bottom of it?”

She nodded and stepped inside the greenhouse, lightly brushing across him in the cramped space. Draco cursed quietly, forgetting about the unavoidable proximity inside. He had inadvertently forced this upon himself. Taking a steadying breath, he took a slight step to the right to create any sort of space between them. She gave him a strange look before carefully measuring in exactly two inches of soil inside the reddish terracotta pot.

_Ever the overachiever_ , he thought sarcastically.

“What’s next?” she insisted, a mix of excitement and curiosity evident in her voice.

He felt a flicker of butterflies in his stomach at the pure enthusiasm radiating off her. He felt a glimmer of relief that other than her diminished physique, her mind was as clear and alert as ever.

“Now make a small indentation and place the bud inside,” he instructed, indicating she use the pad of her thumb to press into the soil, “Then we’ll cover it up with a thin layer of soil, thoroughly and carefully soak the soil, and place it over here to grow.”

“How long do you think that will take?” she mused as she set to work, “I wish there were some sort of magic to accelerate the growth. That way we could see if it is truly a rose and what color it would be.”

“These things take time Granger,” he huffed out, “That sort of magic is elemental and we can’t control earth’s natural processes.”

He hit a mental wall of realization as soon as the words left his lips. He froze in place, furiously recalling those cryptic and perplexing words from _Black Book of Carmarthen:_

_…great and terrible powers of the Earth used during the Battle of Llongborth…_

“I know, but waiting has never exactly been my strong suit.” She chuckled, “Wouldn’t it be fantastic if we…Draco, what’s wrong?”

Her voice sounded far off, too subdued to pull him from his mental cataloguing. Only when she gently tapped his arm, did he realize she had spoken.

“Hey, are you alright?” she asked, “Maybe you should stop for a second and get some water. It is pretty warm in here.”

“No, it’s not that. Something you just said reminded me of some work I recently translated.” He explained quickly, the wheels turning in his mind.

“You’ve been working on translations as well?” she burst out eagerly, “What is it? Tell me!”

Draco began explaining the passage to Hermione and she became so visibly thrilled, he thought he might have to anchor her to the greenhouse for fear she might float away.

“It is my theory, based on how you seem to have some sort of emotionally based connection to some forms of elemental magic through Cerridwen, that maybe you also have the ability to control earthen based magic as well. Remember how you nearly gave me frostbite our first day here or when you lit the fire without your wand?” he speculated.

He felt a slight twinge of guilt when she cringed at the mention of their frostbite incident. He’d be so caught up in this potential magical breakthrough that he hadn’t stopped to consider his words.

“It wasn’t my intention to upset you about the frostbite situation. I meant it more in terms of air and water elementals. You conjured gale-like winds along with fully formed snow by pulling water droplets from the air itself!” he added, hoping she would latch onto his idea.

He watched as she considered his words, her lips moving silently as if she was having a rapid-fire argument in her head. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she glanced up at him with a mix of terror and awe in her eyes.

“Do you really think I’m capable of such magic?” she breathed out, a voice barely above a whisper.

“I still have all my fingers.” He shot out with a grin, further proving his point by bringing up a hand and wiggling his fingers.

She slapped his hand down with a giggle before turning solemn faced.

“Okay,” she declared, “Let’s see if your theory is correct.”

* * *

She watched as he reached up and grabbed a random seed packet and shook out a couple seeds into his hand.

“Why not the rose bud?” she asked with a frown, thrilled by the prospect of magically creating real, not just transfigured, flowers.

“I only found the one and I don’t want to risk ruining the only seed we have. These are…” he started, glancing over the writing on the packet, “Cherry tomatoes. We’ve got several of these seeds, so it won’t be too much of a loss if they fail.”

“Oh,” she murmured, “That makes sense.”

He only responded with a smirk and gestured for her to hold out her hand. She did so and yelped when he dumped a handful of dirt into her palm.

“What’s the dirt for?” she demanded as the fine, loamy material slipped between her fingers and onto the greenhouse’s floor.

“The wording specifically mentioned ‘ _earth_ ’, so its safe to say some earth will be needed.” He reasoned, “Besides don’t plants require earth to grow? Or maybe you draw from the inherent elemental magical properties that exist within the soil itself. I’m not sure but its worth trying. Now hold still so I don’t drop these seeds on the ground.”

She steadied her hand and watched as he placed a single seed into the center of her palm with surgical precision. She admired the steadiness of his hands, offhandedly reflecting on how useful a skill that must be for potion-brewing. A brief cough pulled her back where Draco was waiting for her, his arms crossed expectantly.

“Are you sure your magic can handle this?” he questioned lightly.

“I think so. It feels a bit more settled, maybe that nap and a bit of fresh air helped.” She joked, giving him a wide smile.

“Ha.” He replied sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, “Just stop if you feel like you are going to collapse. Not much room for that in here.”

Hermione felt her heart swell a bit at his concern while a flush crept up her neck and towards her cheeks. Not wanting to see his reaction to her blushing, she squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. Focusing on the small bundle in her hand, picturing a green sprout shooting up from the brown material. She felt the thrum of magic activate at the intention. The center of her palm began to grow warm and heavy. She heard a sharp intake of air. Afraid to open her eyes, she spoke.

“Is it working?” she uttered, growing alarmed as the weight became so heavy that she had to use her other hand to fully support it.

“You had better open your eyes.” Came his whispered response, heavy with awe.

She opened her eyes, blinking first at the bright sunlight filtering through the greenhouse’s roof and second at the large green object partially blocking her view of Draco. Her breath left in a collective _woosh_ , the air effectively stolen from her lungs.

The seed had gone beyond a small sprout. A tall shoot, full of budding limbs and leaves, rose up from her hand. A golden mist floated around the plant and small, white blossoms began popping up on the tips of its leafy fingers. She focused harder, willing the blossom to bear fruit. The golden mist, her magic, gently swirled around the flowers. The mist seemed to pluck the petals leaving perfect, shiny red tomatoes in their stead.

Her mind reeling at the magic unfolding before them, she sought out Draco’s eyes. They were switching rapidly back and forth between her and the tomatoes, incredulous and captivated. She let out a squeal of delight at the delicious looking fruit, tempted to pluck one off and pop it in her mouth.

Her temptation and joy were short-lived. No sooner than the tomatoes had taken perfect mature form, did they began to wilt. The golden mist swirled faster and faster around the tomatoes, plucking them off as carelessly as the blossoms had been plucked.

“You’re overdoing it.” He barked out, “Stop!”

Hermione’s brow creased as she tried to stop the magic’s forceful assault on the delicate plant. However, the magic refused to cooperate and she began to panic.

“I can’t!” she exclaimed in terror, “It won’t listen! This was a terrible mistake!”

The magic continued twisting around the tomato plant like a vine, tugging til all the red fruits littered the floor, mushy and rotten. Her bottom lip begin to tremble when the stem and limbs began curling in on themselves, turning brown and dried out. With a last, agonizing flare of golden sparks, the plant dissolved into a fine ash that collected neatly in her palm. Staring at the grayish brown pile, she shook the ash from her hand and began crying. She heard Malfoy drop a low whistle while giving her a sympathetic touch on the shoulder.

“Well, that obviously didn’t work.” He snorted out, vanishing the mess from the floor, “Now we know who has the green thumb between the two of us.”

Hermione whipped her head around at him.

“What did you say?” she squeaked out, shooting him an incensed glare.

“No reason to get upset. We had no idea if it would really work.” He snapped, holding up his hands in deflection, “Sometimes growing plants is just an innate ability. Honestly, I didn’t even know I was that good at gardening til we came here.”

A series of ideas and questions dawned in Hermione’s mental periphery. If their magic already partially connected, then why had just her magic manifested? Did she have the ability to conjure elemental magic, but her “consort” was meant to act as a safeguard to these magics? She considered that her elemental magic had become increasingly volatile and draining as of late, but this was the most settled it had been. It had settled remarkably the moment he had stepped in her room. She trained a critical look on Draco’s features.

“I mean I was pretty good in Herbology, except that awful year with the Mandrakes.” He drawled, “No offense. I still have nightmares about those horrible-…why are you looking at me like that?” he blurted out, a flash of suspicion in his eyes.

“Were you always this proficient in gardening?” she questioned intently, “Let me clarify, have you ever actually grown a garden?” she finished, leaning forward to poke a dirty finger squarely in his chest.

“Of course, I haven’t.” he scoffed, callously brushing away her hand.

“Then how come you’ve managed to grow one without any sort of experience?” she demanded, “Gardens take years of practice. No one is _naturally_ that good. Unless, they have some sort of divine-like assistance.” she suggested nonchalantly with a knowing grin.

“What are you trying to say?” he challenged, “That I have the ability to control Earth? Didn’t you hear me earlier? It specifically mentioned Cerridwen in that text, not her ‘consort’.”

“Didn’t you notice that only my magic manifested? Your magic wasn’t there to temper mine. For all this talk about bonds and consorts, we haven’t actually attempted any magic in tandem. Especially extraordinarily powerful magic such as elemental magic.” She elaborated, “Think of it like this: I may be the raw source of the power itself, but I need a conduit to properly channel and direct that power. Just like a wand channels magic. Maybe you are that conduit.”

He stood still, seemingly mulling over the potential implications of her words. Silently, he turned around and grabbed another fistful of dirt. He reached for her hand, grasping her by the wrist, and poured more soil into her hand. She watched keenly as he placed another seed in the center of the pile, his grip on her wrist remained firm but gentle. He looked into her eyes and stiffly nodded.

“Try it again, but this time, focus on bringing up both our magic.” He stressed, his face set in determination.

Taking a deep breath, she repeated the process, focusing on drawing out both of their magics. The inside of the greenhouse glowed as the two shimmering materials danced around their hands. The golden mist scattered the soil while the liquid silver encapsulated the seed. They both watched in silent fascination as the seedling sprouted and inched upward.

“Now,” he breathed, his voice grounding her focus, “Concentrate on slowing down the growth. There is no point in forcing the plant to bear fruit now.”

She nodded and released a low breath, pulling back on the intensity of the manifested magic. She was beyond relieved when the leaves unfurled slower and the spinning combo of gold and silver began to fade. She nearly missed the feel of his other hand gently reach up to cup her hand, his features arranged in a mix of delight and bewilderment. Once again, she felt that fluttering ache in her chest and she knew her theory to be correct.

They needed each other, but in a way neither had ever expected.


	24. Salt in The Wound

**Chapter 24 – Salt in The Wound**

_A/N: Song Rec: “Martyr” by Roniit & Saint Mesa. All grammar/errors are my own. - delphicpigeon_

* * *

Hermione attempted to convince Draco to use their newfound ability to encourage the rose bud forth, but he quickly dismissed the idea by countering that somethings were best left to nature. He had also pointed out her weakened magical state and as much as she hated to admit it, he was being irritatingly reasonable. Following their magical discovery, he had essentially forced her to follow a strict routine of three-square meals, a ridiculously child-like sleep schedule, daily outside time, and a mandatory break from the _Gospel of the Witches_. Despite the domineering timetable, Hermione was begrudgingly grateful for his actions. With the exceptions of sporadic nightmares, she felt her health and magic gradually return. As much as it pained her to stop her translation work, it was also a much-needed respite.

Each day drifted by like a pleasant dream. She’d wake up to a steaming cup of breakfast tea, left on the nightstand, every morning. Lately, he woke early to tend to the garden as the days had grown longer and warmer. After reading a couple passages from whatever text was left at her bedside, be it was regular literature, alchemy, or runes, she’d rise and get dressed before padding outside to join him. As much as she had loved her little reading nook, she was growing increasingly fond of sitting under the shade of a transfigured parasol reading aloud to him to pass the time.

Every once in a while he’d stand, brush the dirt off his trousers, and offer to walk around the edge of the woods. They’d discuss the various flora and fauna of the area, recount the more pleasant memories from Hogwarts, theories for their most recent readings, or just simply stroll in amiable silence while enjoying the peaceful forest. Sometimes, she fancied herself daring enough to loop her arm around his, but in the end she always chickened out.

_I can outsmart three-headed dogs, ride on hippogriffs, and illegally brew Polyjuice Potion, but I can’t bring myself to touch Draco Malfoy’s arm,_ she snarked, _some Gryffindor I am._

This afternoon he was animatedly describing the joy he had felt when he had been chosen as Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team. Despite the fact that she had never developed any sort of interest for the barbaric game, his enthusiasm warmed her heart. On the other hand, it also reminded her of Harry and Ron pouring over Quidditch magazines during the weekend when they should have been studying their schoolwork. Her smile dropped and she fought to keep her emotions under control. He must have caught onto her sudden shift in mood when he gently laid a hand on her arm.

“Did I upset you?” he questioned with a frown.

“No, not you, personally.” She replied with a sniff while shaking her head, “It’s just the way you talk about that absurd sport. It reminded me of Harry and Ron.”

“I can’t believe you just compared me to Potter and the Weasel.” He drawled, “You wound me Granger. I thought we had moved beyond personal insults.”

He dramatically lifted his hand to his brow, a ridiculous pouting expression on his face. Hermione thought her eyes might roll out of her head.

“Ugh, you are such a drama queen.” She muttered, pulling away from him.

Dropping his hand, he quickened his pace and threw a careless arm around her shoulders. Hermione nearly seized up at his unexpected nearness.

“You say dramatic,” he snorted critically, “ However, I’m not the one comparing the ‘Chosen One’ to an ex-Death Eater and a deserter of friends.”

She struggled to twist her head to glare in his direction, jutting her chin out defiantly.

“Ron came back and even managed to destroy a Horcrux!” she snapped in exasperation, “Also, Harry absolutely hates being the ‘Chosen One’. Therefore, my initial statement still stands.”

“If you say so.” He shot back with a devilish grin, removing his arm from her shoulders, “Alright, it’s getting late and I’ve got a couple more things to finish up before we turn in for the night.”

As she watched him walk towards the cottage, many confusing thoughts jumbled through her head. 

Since when had she developed any sort of feelings for Draco Malfoy? She had thought she was going to jump out of her skin when he had laid his arm haphazardly on her. The gesture had been innocent enough but he had been so close that she had felt the heat radiating off of his body. Her heart had had a sudden burst of flurrying energy and butterflies basically exploded in her belly. Unbidden, she was picturing him wrapping his arms around her tight as his rough hands slid slowly up her spine to cup the back of her head. She licked her lips as she imagined him threading his fingers deeply in her hair, gently tugging her head back to expose the slender column of her throat. She swore she could truly hear his breath become ragged as he drank in the sight of her submitting to him. His ice blue eyes darkening to a steely blue as his head dipped forward, the space between them closing.

“Hey Granger, you coming?” he yelled, pulling her abruptly from her mental fantasy.

She managed to squeeze out a strained ‘yes’ before she hurried towards his distant figure, trying to shake those illicit images inspiring more than just a flare of heat in her cheeks.

* * *

A couple weeks later, Draco and Hermione were sitting next to each other in the main room staring down the _Gospel of the Witches_. He was trying to ignore just how close they were sitting. He thought if he just shifted a bit then his thigh would be pressed against hers, but he resisted the urge in order to concentrate on their current task. He had managed to convince her to avoid working on the text by herself. Tonight, they would test their magic sharing capabilities.

“You ready?” she whispered, a sliver of fear across her face.

“Everything will be fine.” He replied, holding his hand out for her.

She nodded and delicately placed her hand in his. He had to stifle a sharp inhale at the contact. Her fingers curled gently around his and he was somewhat surprised to see how well their hands fit each other’s. The light grew in the room as their magic manifested and flowed into the book. His breath hitched as the odd sensation of magic draining filled him. It felt like an impossibly slow leak. He glanced towards Granger to check her condition. Her lips were moving wordlessly, her eyes zipping back and forth drinking in the runes as they materialized on the yellowed pages. He was irritated that he could not read the runes himself as they seemed specifically keyed to Cerridwen. She appeared to be managing the magical drain rather well. He let out a soft breath and wondered how she had managed this all of her own, much less for two weeks. No wonder she had looked terrible.

As his thoughts continued to wander, he sat back as the drain began to take its toll. His eyes felt terribly heavy, as well as his limbs. He wasn’t sure how long they had been at it, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could handle. Her grip on his hand tightened sharply and his eyes popped open. Her face was pale, eyes unseeing, while her posture was ramrod straight. He jerked upright.

“What is it?” he demanded, “What do you see?”

She roughly released his hand, cutting off their flow of magic. With a flick of her finger, the book slammed shut and she shot off the couch. Draco was utterly confused at her actions and made to follow after her.

“What is going on Granger?” he insisted.

She stumbled to the kitchen, gripping the counter heavily. Her head was bent over as if in prayer, a curtain of curls hiding her face. He heard her stifle a sob. He felt his chest constrict in fear. What exactly was it she had read?

He cautiously approached her and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She jerked away from his touch and he hated how much the movement felt like a stab to the heart. He could almost hear those taunting thoughts of his unworthiness bubbling up to the surface.

“Your mother was right.” Came the tiniest sound.

Draco felt the color leave his face. The contents of his mother’s letter flooding his mind all at once.

_The magic that flows within Cerridwen is raw and volatile – without a secondary magical core to share that power – the Granger witch will die._

_Cerridwen will consume her and without a form to tether her to our own plane, the consequences are unthinkable._

“Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” he ventured, unable to decide just exactly how he felt about the implications of his mother’s words.

“Of course not.” She remarked, snapping her head up at his.

Draco hastily backed away at the look in her eye. They were burning with rage, her features sharpening. Her fingers dug into the counter, the wood smoking under her palms. She had her teeth bared, looking more animal than witch.

“All my choices stolen from me!” she seethed, her voice morphing into a disembodied and deadly tone as the wood cracked under her grip, “And you!?”

She rounded on him, her face distorted. She lifted an accusatory finger, the nails lengthened and jagged. Her eyes a molten gold color while her hair whipped around her, lifted by some invisible force. Draco eyes widened. He had encountered Cerridwen enough to know just how dangerous these transformations could be. Slowly, he reached for his wand as he wordlessly cast a shielding charm. Unfortunately, she caught his movement and a sneer twisted upon her mouth.

“A wand won’t help you.” She scoffed, “We both know I am powerful and more than capable of deflecting anything you could possibly cast.”

He froze, his hand within reaching distance of his wand holster. She smiled broadly in a way that did not reach her eyes. The counter behind her was glowing red and Draco feared she would burn the kitchen down. She edged forward, dragging her nails against the table top.

“Look Granger, I don’t know what it is you saw but it can’t be that dreadful!” he rushed out, hoping to stop her predatory creep towards him, “I’m not your enemy here.”

“Is that so?” she purred, “Want to know what the Gospel had to say about _you_?”

Draco flinched at the malicious tone in her voice. His back bumped into the wall, leaving him nowhere else to escape as she advanced on him.

“You have no choice either. That pathetic excuse of a Dark Lord personally ensured that when he selected you as a consort. As if your free will hadn’t already been robbed through that ridiculous mark.” She uttered, releasing a hysterical laugh much too reminiscent of Bellatrix, “But you know what is even more ludicrous, Draco Malfoy, my Fallen Prince?”

She came to a stop in front of him, her eyes locked on his. He gulped nervously, unsure if he should respond or keep silent.

“Answer me.” she threatened, coolly reaching out to tuck a blond strand behind his ear.

He shivered at her touch, simultaneously tender and hostile. He stared down at her, all traces of Hermione wiped from the face in front of him. His mind raced, searching for some answer that would turn this terrifying creature away from him.

“I don’t know!” he admitted bitterly, “How could I?”

“Your mother had it correct all along. She must have been a practitioner of the Old Ways to have such knowledge.” She commented airily, “This vessel, the one you call Granger, is dying. Once I have drained her magic and life force, you will follow in the same path.”

Draco felt like the air had been pushed from his lungs. He gasped out as her words sunk in. It was all inevitable. Irrevocable and permanent. His walls crumbled and he slid to the floor in a heap.

“But knowledge is power.” Her voice echoed above him.

She kneeled down in front of him, hands folded in her lap.

“Make her understand and you’ll both survive.” Her voice softened, losing its violent edge, “The sooner you two mortals get past your own selfish and misguided ideas, the sooner unimaginable power is within your grasp.”

His eyes lifted to hers at the precise moment Cerridwen escaped back to the deep recesses of Hermione’s mind. In a flash, the gold disappeared and her brown eyes returned. They landed on him for a brief moment before rolling back into her skull as her body collapsed towards the floor.

Panicking, Draco cast a lightning-fast Cushioning Charm before her head hit the ground. As her body lay limply on the floor next to him, he crawled towards her and ghosted his palm across her cheek. She was feverish but breathing. Pulling out his wand, he extinguished the smoking counter and turned back to her.

“ _Reneverate_.” He cast quietly.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. Her breathing quickly became shallow as she pushed up into a sitting position. She looked around wildly before fixing a wild look at Draco.

“Is she gone?” she asked fearfully.

He could only nod in response, his body still on high alert. Although he knew Hermione herself had returned, he was still distrustful. She stared at him for along moment before she burst into tears and launched herself onto him, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

“Draco,” she cried out, “I am so sorry! Please forgive me!”

Draco sat numbly as she sobbed uncontrollably into his neck. He felt her tears soak into his shirt, her breath hot. Gradually, his senses returned as the shock began to wear off. His arms lifted and twined around her. He pulled her closer as cries tore from her throat, running his fingers soothingly over her hair. He did not trust himself to speak, so he sat silently as she bitterly wept.

“I stole your life! Because of me you are going to…” her voice trailed off, overcome once again with tears.

He held her tighter, trying to will her tears into submission. He couldn’t stand that she was attempting to shoulder the burden for both of them. She already held the weight of Potter’s well-being, how could she hold more?

“Neither of us chose this.” He spoke finally, “You did not steal my life. Can’t you see that without you, without this situation, it was already stolen. The Dark Lord took that from me long ago. You gave it back.”

“But both Cerridwen and the book said that-” she began.

“It doesn’t matter what they said.” He argued, “It’s much too late for that. We’ve been semi-bonded for months now. It would have been utterly foolish for either of us to honestly believe there would be no consequences of such a connection or that we could possibly separate ourselves from it.”

She pulled back at his words, her face blotchy and eyes rimmed with unshed tears.

“You don’t blame me?” she hesitated, her lip trembling as if she expected him to answer in the positive.

“How could I?” he responded softly, realizing how badly he wanted to ease the pain and guilt she felt.

She let out a choked sob and leaned into his arms once more. They sat wordlessly on the floor as the outside light faded, only the sounds of her fading cries between them. Eventually, her tears dried and turned into stuttered breathing. Her body sagged against his, a testament to the absolute fatigue she must have felt. He would have been content to let her rest there, but his energy was depleted between the magical drain and sitting in the floor in an awkward position for a long period of time. He gently shook her awake.

“Hey, we need to get off this floor.” He spoke while coaxing her upright.

She rubbed her eyes, swaying slightly. He stretched his stiff muscles and almost missed her wince at the state of the charred kitchen.

“I know tonight is not the best time to bring this up, but we’ll have to address these outbursts sooner or later.” He suggested lightly.

She nodded mutely as he brought a small fire to life to combat the lingering chill in the air. He knew summer would be here soon along with his birthday. He mentally sniffed in disdain. The one-year anniversary of his branding. How terribly funny it should be that something that was meant to last a lifetime didn’t even survive a singular year?

“Do you want me to help you upstairs?” he asked, gesturing up towards the bedroom, “I don’t know about you but I am exhausted and could sleep for days.”

“If it’s alright by you,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, “I’d like to stay down here with you. I don’t think I could handle being alone tonight.”

He raised his brows in mild surprise but couldn’t deny her request. A small part of him felt relief as well. He didn’t necessarily think it was safe for her to be alone and if he was being honest, he didn’t want to be alone either.

“Of course. The couch is all yours.” He replied, busying himself with transfiguring blankets and pillows.

He heard her cough and when he turned around, he was somewhat shocked to find she had expanded the couch to accommodate much larger than just herself. His forehead creased in uncertainty as his mind floundered through several scenarios. Did she make it large enough for them both or was her magic so unstable that a simple transfiguration was too much for her to properly control?

“I hope you don’t mind sharing.” She murmured shyly, “It seems terribly unfair that you should sleep in the armchair after everything that has happened. I tried to make it large enough for both of us. Is that ok?”

He studied her for a moment as she gave him a sad smile.

“I’m sorry. That was inappropriate.” She apologized quickly, looking crestfallen at his intense expression.

“Have you forgotten that we’ve already shared a bed once?” he hinted, giving her a small smile in return, “I think considering our circumstances, it would be rude of me to say no.”

He handed her the pillows and blankets as he slipped into the bathroom to change. After washing his face and slipping on some nightclothes, he returned to find her already buried beneath the thick blankets facing away from him. He walked over and eased himself down onto the transfigured bed, hoping not to disturb her. As he settled under another blanket, he let out a deep breath as exhaustion washed over him. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was the feel of her shifting into the curve of his body and the faint sigh that fell from her lips as he wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. That night, he dreamt of snowflakes and moonlight as the scent of pine and peppermint filled his senses.


	25. Beltane (Part I)

**Chapter 25 – Beltane (Part I)**

_A/N: My intentions going forward with the Paganism/Old Magic references will be to provide the history and attributes behind the celebrations and holidays without actually going through the rituals themselves (unless they are specific to the plot line such as Cerridwen’s initial summoning). Each practitioner of paganism and present-day magic is different with their own personalized rituals. I didn’t want to be disrespectful or make assumptions that the way I have written a particular sabbat or ritual is the “proper” way, especially as I am an eclectic solitary practitioner. As always, my mistakes are my own. - delphicpigeon_

* * *

As spring slowly drifted into summer, the garden bloomed and began bursting with fragrant herbs, colorful flowers, and plentiful vegetables. One warm morning, Hermione had been ecstatic to find that their rose bud had finally sprouted up from the ground. She had excitedly run inside the cottage where Draco was humming softly while fixing a light breakfast.

“It’s growing!” she called out happily, rushing into the kitchen.

“It’s a garden, that’s what it does.” He remarked sarcastically.

“I’m not talking about the garden,” she huffed, “Come and see!”

She grabbed his hand, tugging for him to follow. He grumbled under his breath, cast a quick Statis Charm, and allowed himself to be drug outside by her. She skipped over to the green shoot, pointing excitedly. They had planted it next to the iris and for some inexplicable reason, she found it incredibly poetic. Maybe, she thought, because irises represented her mother and roses represented his.

“The rose!” she crowed with giddiness.

“I had my doubts that it would even make it this far,” he began, crouching down to inspect the dark leaves, “But like everything else in this cottage, it’s getting a second chance.”

Hermione stared down at him in mild shock. Every day that she spent with him further endeared herself to the spoiled little brat that had once bullied her mercilessly. Regaining her composure, she gave his shoulder a playful smack.

“Oh ye of little faith,” she teased, “Outsmarted by a rose of all things.”

Draco stood with a pinched expression on his face.

“I wasn’t outsmarted by a rose.” He murmured weakly, “Now can I go finish breakfast or do I have to starve to appreciate it?”

“Someone’s grumpy.” She observed, a wry smile on her face.

He gave a noncommittal shrug before stepping back inside the cottage. She grinned at his retreating figure. Not even a cranky Slytherin could destroy her excitement. The rose had grown like she had hoped and today she was going to attempt her first seasonal ritual. After the horror and darkness of Imbolc, she was eager to replace the memories with a much more lighthearted celebration, Beltane.

She had been doing extensive research after Draco had recounted his rather terrifying encounter with Cerridwen. He explained that Cerridwen had specifically mentioned his mother being familiar with the ‘Old Ways’ and Hermione was determined to discover exactly what those were. In her studies, she had found a variety of ancient celebrations centered around the cycle of nature. Oddly enough, she noticed a distinct shift in her magical perception the closer Beltane came. Her habits becoming increasingly nature based. Her magic ebbed and flowed with the moon, walking barefoot in the grass grounded her, and drinking from the flowing stream felt more refreshing than any cup could provide.

When she had initially begun her search for Beltane rituals, she felt Cerridwen flicker in muted approval from deep within. Bolstered by the goddess’s silent support, she had begun prepping for the day. Beltane marked the transition from spring into the pastoral summer season and was celebrated with large bonfires, flowers, and gifts left to appease the _aos sí,_ or fairy folk. Draco had patiently listened to her enthusiastically explain her intentions for the day, gesturing about where she wanted to have the bonfire or the number of bouquets she was planning to gather. He had merely smiled in wry amusement as she chattered on about the many ways ancient witches and wizards had celebrated their magical roots, the folklore they had created, and most importantly, her outrage that these beautiful ceremonies and knowledge were not being taught.

She had chosen to forego the typical Maypole tradition considering it was just them two and after reading a particularly explicit fertility ritual, she didn’t think it necessary to include. She had selected a handful of the most mature vegetables from the garden to use as offers and had planned on scouring the forest later for the choicest blooms. She frowned slightly as her lack of certain magical ingredients for particular rites, but ultimately decided that she would keep the rituals simple for both their well beings. Her magic was continuing to descend further and further into chaos and she knew that it would soon come to a rather frightening end. Shaking the dark thoughts from her head, she peered inside the shady interior for Draco.

“I’m going out into the forest to gather those flowers. I should be back around mid-afternoon.” She called out, waiting for his response.

He looked up from the book he was reading as he crunched on some toast and gave a nod of acknowledgement before returning to the text. She smiled softly at him and withdrew from the doorframe. Heading towards the brilliant green of the forest, she missed Draco exit the cottage with a determined look on his face.

* * *

As soon as she left, Draco jumped up and headed outside hoping he’d have enough time to complete his surprise project before she returned. He had listened to her for the past several days speak of the upcoming Beltane celebration and understood her need to remake her opinion of ‘Old Ways’ magic. He hadn’t been surprised that his mother had been a practitioner of such magic. Many celebrations had taken place within the Malfoy Grove, but he had only ever seen it as the source of old magic that protected the Malfoy lands and a place for wizarding marriages.

He felt a cold stab of regret as he recalled the last time he had been there. Forcibly carrying her to that altar, the dying cries of the innocent sacrificial lamb, and the look on his mother’s face before he abandoned her. Despite all that had happened from the moment Hermione had been tortured on his ancestral home’s floor, he was utterly grateful to be where he was. Prior to her arrival, he had all semblance of hope and thrived only on survival. The survival of his mother, to make it another day with as little bloodshed as possible. Some days he thought he might drown under all the blood and guilt. He recalled the moonstone brooch his mother had bequeathed to him, their saving grace from that place. He had asked Hermione to unknowingly guard it for him that unfortunate day and felt that tonight, under the moon and by the light of the Beltane bonfire, he should gift it to her properly. The moonstone bore her mark. It was only fitting that it should be hers.

Turning his mind back to the present, he walked to the edge of the stream and glanced around. He knew she had been preparing some basic rituals for tonight, but his concern for her increasingly erratic magical behavior prompted him to devise a plan that might keep them both safe. Selecting a relatively flat location, he set to work. Picturing of one of the many gazebos that had lined the massive lake at Malfoy Manor, he meant to create a place in which she could practice ritual magic safely and away from the cottage. He also wanted a secondary location for her to escape to. He had silently observed her become increasingly drawn to the stream’s side. Several mornings, he had found her sitting quietly at the edge of the water with her hands planted firmly on the ground. He had been worried at first, but the peaceful and radiant expression on her face had immediately quelled those fears.

Felling a handful of trees, he created the basic structure of the gazebo with a small wooden bridge arching delicately over the stream, connecting their yard to the surrounding forest. With a precise slicing charm, he cut shingles and laid them in in a downward slanting motion along with a water repelling charm to keep the inside dry during any rain. Thinking back to the vase he had transfigured for her so many months ago, he gave the shelter a soft eggshell color. Stepping back, he found the structure too simplistic and decided to carve intricate designs into the main poles. In addition, he carved the rune symbols for protection and security, along with Cerridwen’s symbol, into the base of the structure and cast a Disillusionment Charm over them. He then set to laying a series of protective charms and layers of shielding magic to make the structure as durable as possible, whether it be from her magic or others. He hoped they were never attacked here but it would be foolish not to prepare for such a possibility. He cast a couple of blasting charms to test the stability of the small building. It wouldn’t outlast a _Maxima Bombarda_ or _Fiendfyre_ , but it would manage well enough against smaller hexes.

Now that the outside was finished, he began working on the inside. Using the thick base of the trees, he transfigured two chairs using the roots as the legs and arms. He turned the handful of leaves into stuffing for cushions and created two tables, one small and the other large. He did his best to use every part of the downed trees. He collected unused logs and limbs to be used as future kindling, setting aside a couple smooth and knot-free sections to transform into bowls, cups, and plates. He also selected intact branches to place above their fireplace. He vaguely remembered she had mentioned something about placing greenery in certain places as celebratory decoration. He looked up, realizing that her appointed return time of mid-afternoon was approaching, and quickly finished up the last of his work with a final appraising look.

He hastily returned to the cottage, changed clothes, and returned to the armchair as if he had never left in the first place while eagerly waiting for her return.

* * *

Hermione emerged from the forest, her arms laden with bright flowers. She had been delighted to find several small clearings with wildflowers blanketing the ground. As she strolled towards the cottage, she considered how she would arrange the many blossoms when a foreign structure caught the corner of her vision. She cautiously twisted her head in the direction of the object and all the flowers fell from her hands. Edging towards the building, she glanced around for any signs of intrusion or that their wards had been breached. Finding sign of neither, she came to a stop in front of the graceful structure and let herself admire the enchanting beauty it exuded.

The design was simple but blended almost organically with the surrounding nature. Hesitantly, she placed a foot on the arching bridge and gave it a small push. Finding it solid, she walked across as the stream ran smoothly beneath. As she neared, she felt the protective magic rolling off the building and instinctively knew this had been Draco’s work. She reached out and placed a hand on one of the thick poles, feeling the distinctive energy of each layer of magic. Immediately, she felt safer within this place. Releasing the tension from her shoulders, she inspected the interior. She ran a finger across the smooth wood of one of the chairs, appreciating the lovely design. Easing herself down, she sat back in silence.

She was instantly enveloped in the sounds of the forest, a profound peace settling over her. The gurgle of the nearby stream, the sweet melodic song of several birds, the soft shuffle of swaying branches, and the whisper of tall grasses. Closing her eyes, she drank in the calm and simplicity of it all. She sat there, breathing deeply and evenly, til the afternoon gave way to dusk. Gradually, she opened her eyes to see Draco’s silhouette in the doorway of the cottage, the indoor light casting his shadow across the yard. Her heart stuttered gently at the sight of him. She knew she’d need to find some way to repay him for such a beautiful gesture. Standing, she walked over to where she had dropped the flowers, collected them, and walked towards the wizard who was captivating her more and more with each passing day.

* * *

_Post A/N: I originally had Beltane planned as a single chapter. However, after writing out the entire scene (plus some additional details), I realized this chapter would be disproportional to the other chapters with too many details being thrown at the reader. Please don’t hate me too much lol. Also, I just want to give so many thanks to everyone who is reading, reviewing, kudoing, etc. This story has snowballed out of control and I love it so much. - delphicpigeon_


	26. Beltane (Part II)

**Chapter 26 – Beltane (Part II)**

_A/N: Welcome back for the second half of Beltane and I hope I didn’t cause too much angst with the chapter split. I’ve got a song rec: “Save Your Tears” by the Weeknd. As always, my mistakes are my own. - delphicpigeon_

* * *

He didn’t know when she had found the gazebo at first, but when she hadn’t returned inside the cottage by dusk he decided to look for her. When he saw her sitting inside the structure, he allowed himself a small smug smile of satisfaction. His intention had hit its mark. Even from across the yard in the dying afternoon light, he could see her relaxed posture. Her brow wasn’t furrowed in worry and her hands were casually folded in her lap as her hair blew softly in the warm breeze.

Content to let her sit in peace, he stood watching her. He was struck once again with her unexpected loveliness. He recalled the first time he had seen her dressed up at the Yule Ball, taken aback that this vision in periwinkle blue that had been hidden under the bushy haired bookworm. He remembered Pansy’s irritation at his lapse in attention towards her and her hateful, snide remarks about Hermione’s appearance. Throughout the entire evening, he had tried to catch glimpses of her while fighting off stabs of jealousy as she spun across the dance floor with Viktor Krum, a wide smile plastered across her face. Back then, he had attributed his jealousy to bafflement over Viktor Krum taking an interest in her. But now, he thought maybe that wasn’t the case anymore.

Feeling her gaze upon him, he gave a small wave and watched as she left the gazebo. She walked towards him, her arms full of color and a dazzling smile on her lips.

“It’s beautiful Draco.” She announced as she reached him.

“It’s nothing.” He shrugged outwardly.

Inwardly, he was running mental victory laps.

“So humble.” She teased, pushing past him into the cottage, “You put a lot of work into it, both physically and magically, and I appreciate it. Now help me with these flowers.”

He followed her to the kitchen table where she spread out all the flowers and instructed him to sort them by color. They worked quietly and quickly, as dusk was beginning to fade into night. The bonfire would need to be lit soon and they still needed to clean out the old ashes of the cottage’s fireplace. Draco had been intrigued by the particular focus on fire for Beltane. According to Hermione’s research, during Beltane, the old ashes of a home’s hearth were removed, buried, and replaced by embers created by a Beltane bonfire known as Tein-eigen, the need fire. It symbolized fresh starts, cleansing, and purification. He had been slightly alarmed when she had mentioned the fire jumping part, but quickly remembered with a depreciating scoff that he was a wizard.

“Can you finish this up and get the logs in place for the Tein-eigen?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts, “I am going to go change and prepare for the rituals.”

He nodded and she gave a grateful smile before disappearing up the stairs. He finished sorting the flowers, tying each bundle together with twine before heading outside to prep the wood. Once the logs and starter kindling were in place, he went back inside to clean up as well. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about all this preparation, but he knew how important it was to her. He wasn’t even sure if the Old Ways still provided any actual power or boost to their existing magic, but he was also painfully aware that Cerridwen was born out of a particular type of magic not seen in many millennia.

Following a quick wash, he changed into a pair of black trousers and a dark green linen button up. The shirt had once been stiffly starched but many days in the sun had softened the fabric. He rolled up the sleeves, not wanting to singe them in the fire and affixed a sprig of cut evergreen. Looking at himself in the mirror, he was surprised briefly by his appearance. His hair brushed against the tops of his shoulders and his normally fair complexion had slightly darkened from the many sunny days spent in the garden. His jawline was now hidden by a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He had considered shaving but found that the facial hair coupled with a slight tan reminded him more of his mother’s features rather than his father’s. He decided to let his hair remain unbound before giving his reflection a smirk and exiting the bathroom.

He walked over to the stairs and called up.

“You almost ready up there?”

“Nearly done.” She replied back, “Just a couple more minutes.”

He shrugged and turned to the fireplace, remembering the old ashes needed to be removed before the new embers could be placed. Removing his wand from his arm holster, he vanished the ashes and waited for her to join him. Several minutes later, he heard her descending the stairs and when he turned around, he nearly dropped his wand.

She was absolutely beautiful to behold. Draped in a floor length cream linen dress that was simultaneously simple and decadent, her waist wrapped with a wide dark green sash. Her hair was down with gem-colored ribbons braided into the thick strands. Atop her head sat a flower crown, the blossoms shooting outwards like stars. She fixed him with a radiant smile.

“How do I look?” she asked shyly, giving a small spin.

Draco’s mind went instantly blank. He thought she was the most stunning creature he had ever seen. A witch that he would do anything for. A goddess, both symbolically and in reality, he would bow to. He merely stared at her, his mouth twitching as he struggled to find words.

“Do the ribbons look bad?” she questioned, her smile dropping while reaching up to finger a deep red ribbon.

“No!” he responded, a little too forcefully drawing an alarmed expression from her, “You look…fine.”

_Fine?! That’s the brilliant word you choose to describe the absolutely magnificent witch before you?_ He mentally scolded himself, _Salazar Slytherin would be turning over in his grave if he ever knew how banal and embarrassing a wizard of his House could be. Especially over a Gryffindor._

The smile returned to her face, albeit not as brilliant as before.

“Thanks.” She replied somewhat subdued, before turning towards the door.

Draco panicked. He couldn’t let her walk about that door without rectifying the situation. He felt his chest constrict tightly at seeing the dejected slump of her posture.

“Wait!” he called out, scrambling towards her. “Not fine!”

Her face scrunched up at his outburst.

“I don’t look fine?” she snapped, her face flushing, “Are you saying I look terrible? I don’t see how considering your mother packed this dress for me, so it’s not like you can comment on the quality of it.”

If he hadn’t panicked before, then it was nothing compared to how he was feeling now. _Oh shite_ , he muttered under his breath, _I’ve truly gone and bungled this. She is going to hex me to next Beltane if I don’t fix this immediately._

“That’s not what I meant!” he rushed out, “What I mean is, uh, what I am trying to say is that you look pretty.”

“Oh!” she squeaked out, her face morphing through a variety of expressions before settling on surprise, “You think I look pretty?”

Draco nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak without sounding like a proper idiot.

“Not many people have called me pretty before.” She confessed, “Unless you count parents. Oh, and Viktor Krum back in Fourth Year.”

Draco internally sighed in relief. Viktor Krum was a safe subject.

“The Weasel didn’t?” he commented, “I find that hard to believe.”

“I don’t think _Ronald_ ever did.” She considered, placing heavy emphasis on his name with a pointed glare directed at Draco, “He did tell me I had nice skin once.”

Draco blanched. _What sort of odd compliment was that? Did the Weasley family consider commenting on the condition of someone’s skin as legitimate praise?_ He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in disbelief.

“That is not how you…I mean you do have nice skin, but that is not how you properly compliment someone.” He ground out in irritation, “How you ever fell for that obtuse redhead is beyond me.”

She gave him an amused smirk, apparently entertained by his sardonic response.

“The infamous Draco Malfoy thinks I’m pretty AND I have nice skin.” She teased, giving him a small wink, “My, my. I would have never thought it possible.”

“Ah, yes. Well…we should get on with it.” He prompted, eager to change subjects, “Beltane will be over before we even leave the cottage.”

He walked to her side and held out his arm, clearly indicating she should take it. She peered at his arm strangely for a moment before reaching up and laying her hand lightly on his exposed forearm. He felt his skin ignite under her touch. Lifting his eyes to her, he saw her cheeks flush indicating she felt a similar sensation. Flashing her a smile, he led her out of the cottage and towards Tein-eigen.

* * *

Hermione smiled into the warmth of the flames. The rituals had worked perfectly and she felt a sense of contentment that had long eluded her. They had been simple acts, more symbolic than anything, but she couldn’t pretend that they didn’t affect her in some manner. She looked across the fire where the shadows and lights danced across Draco’s face. He had been a wonderful sport, participating in her rituals with a respectful nature. He had even insisted on carrying the embers of Tein-eigen to the cottage’s own fireplace. Her heart had swelled at his look of concentration as he levitated the red-hot coals away. Turning her attention back, she allowed herself to unabashedly observe him in the dim light.

_Sweet Merlin_ , she thought to herself with a giggle, _he is extremely attractive_! Without his signature sneer during school, she had quietly admitted to herself that Draco Malfoy had been a handsome wizard if she looked past his rude behavior. However, she felt like she was seeing him with an entirely different light. He was determined, charming when he chose to be, remarkably efficient, intelligent, and demanding. Not to mention, in the fresh firelight, he reminded her of the fae. Another giggle escaped as she pictured him with iridescent, fluttering wings.

“Care to share what’s going in that head of yours?” he interrupted, giving her an appraising look.

“No, I don’t think I will.” She giggled back in response.

“If you won’t, then I will.” He spoke quietly, his voice turning serious.

Perplexed, she watched as he withdrew a familiar box from his pocket. She grimaced, recognizing the object. He had entrusted it to her care prior to the removal of his Dark Mark. She didn’t know what it contained, but she knew it must have been precious. He stood and walked to her side.

“Back then, I asked you to watch over this for me.” He started, opening the box and withdrawing a small object, “My mother gave this to me to save us.”

Hermione gasped as his hand opened, a finely wrought moonstone brooch sitting neatly in the center of his palm.

“It’s lovely.” She whispered in awe, “You must miss her very much.”

“I want you to have it.”

She let out a strangled breath as her wide eyes shot up to meet his, searching for any signs that he was joking. She inhaled sharply when she saw nothing but resolve.

“I-…Draco,” she murmured, “I can’t take this. It’s too precious.”

“Please,” he began, so softly that Hermione nearly missed the request, “This brooch was the Portkey that brought us here and it has Cerridwen’s rune carved into it. The same mark that lives on you. She knew who you were and how important you were. I know she meant for you to have it.”

Hermione sat dumbstruck, her eyes fixed on the delicate piece of jewelry.

_How could she possibly accept such a priceless heirloom, especially the final memory of Draco’s mother embedded within it?_

She chewed nervously on her bottom lip, trying to find the words to politely dismiss his gift. Before she could speak, he kneeled beside her and gently undid the brooch’s clasp. Stuttering, she lifted her hands to block his movement. He lightly pushed her hands back into her lap before pinning the brooch in place just above her thunderous heartbeat. He leaned back and looked at her with an expression that shook her to the core: longing.

“Are you sure?” she asked with a shaky breath, “Would Narcissa Malfoy want someone like me in possession of such a valuable thing?”

He waved a hand with a dismissive snort, walking back to the opposite side of the fire.

“Just accept the damned thing Granger.” He teased, “Besides, it looks much better on you than it would ever look on me.”

She looked down and ran the tip of her finger across the smooth edge of the moonstone, taking in the shimmering etched symbol. It was an elegant and breathtaking work of art framed in gleaming silver filigree, more costly and undeniably much older than any piece of jewelry she had ever owned.

“I promise to take care of it.” She asserted.

“I don’t doubt that.” he replied with a smile, “Blessed Beltane Hermione.”

“Blessed Beltane Draco.” She answered, giving him a smile in return.

* * *

_Post A/N: AHHHHH – I’m dying for y’alls thoughts on this. I know the split was a bit unfair, but so worth it honestly._

**Author's Note:**

> I am excited to begin this journey of fanfic writing! Roughly 33 chapters planned out. Updates weekly on Wednesdays. Reviews are always welcome - Enjoy!
> 
> Also on FF.
> 
> -delphicpigeon


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